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William Lukens Shoemaker 



NEW AND OLD 



NEW AND OLD 



A VOLUME OF VERSE 



BY 



JOHN ADDINGTON SYMONDS 

AUTHOR OF 
'many moods' 'renaissance in ITALY' 'STUDIES OF GREEK POETS ' 



' The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him ' 



BOSTON 
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY 

1880 



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Franklin Press: 

Stereotyped and Printed by 

Rand, Avery, &r' Co., 

Boston, 

Oift 

W. L. Shoemaker 
7 S '06 



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TO MY FRIEND 



AMELIA BETHAM EDWARDS 



I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 



Davos Platz 

March i 8o 



CONTENTS. 

Lyrics of Life and Art, Part I. : 

PAGE 

Accentual Sapphics . . 3 

Two Moods of the Mind 4 

Love in Dreams 6 

Ich hor' es sogar im Traum 7 

To One in Heaven 8 

Forget Me Never 9 

On the Hill-side . . ' lo 

New Life, New Love lo 

Four Pictures by Burne Jones . . . , . . .12 

Die mihi quid feci ^3 

Love among the Ruins 14 

Spring 15 

Summer . . . • • • • • • • ^ 5 

Harvest 16 

Lines written inside a copy of * Paradise Lost ' . . • 17 

Any Sculptor to Any Model 18 

The Singer . . . » 19 

Eyebright 20 

A Nocturne ' ^^ 

A Fancy 21 

Sorrow Song .22 

Farewell 23 

An Allegory • • .24 

Disappointment 26 

The Rejected Suppliant 27 

Mene, Mene • . . 29 

In Dreamland . . . • 3° 

vii 



Vlll CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

Leuke 33 

An Improvisation on the Violin 43 

Poems on Greek Themes: 

Hesperus and Hymenaeus 51 

The Feet of the Beloved 57 

From Maximus Tyrius 57 

An Episode 59 

To Rhodocleia . . . . . . •. . . . 60 

At Diodes' Tomb at Megara 60 

The Sacrifice . . 62 

Art is Love 63 

Martyrdom 67 

Pantarkes . .69 

The Love-Tale of Odatis and Prince Zariadres : 

The Dream of Odatis . • 77 

The Dream of Zariadres 84 

Of the Embassy and how it Fared 91 

Of Zaffir's Converse with Odatis * 99 

How Zariadres won Odatis 106 

Sonnets : 

Intellectual Isolation 117 

Friendship, Love, and Death 121 

A Dream 123 

In Absence 12 c 

Two Sonnets of Unrest 127 

An Old Gordian Knot 129 

The Alps and Italy 134 



CONTENTS, ix 



Among the Mountains: 

From Heine , . . . . 141 

The Love of the Alps 141 

The Crocus and the Soldanella ....... 143 

On the Alp 146 

Before Sunrise ,147 

The Cappuzin 14S 

On the Schwarzhorn . -149 

An Autumn Day 150 

November 151 

After Sunset . . . * ., 151 

An Invitation to the Sledge 152 

A Ballata 154 

In February 156 

Waiting 156 

Fragment of a Letter 157 

Prometheus Dead . . 158 

In Italy: 

At Amalfi 165 

Looking Back . . . 167 

Lines written on the Roof of Milan Cathedral . . .170 
In Venice : 

1. The Invitation to the Gondola 172 

2. The Ponte di Paradiso 173 

3. In the Small Canals 175 

Vintage 177 

The Myrtle Bough 178 

Hendecasyllables , . 179 

Farewell to Tuscany . . 180 

In Val Bregaglia 182 



X CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Imelda Lambertazzi 185 

Lyrics of Life and Art, Part II.: 

From Friend to Friend 209 

An Undertone 210 

In Wanderstunden Geschrieben ,212 

The Birth of a Star 212 

The Doom of the Slothful 213 

Echoes 214 

Yearnings after the Desert 215 

The Camera Obscura 218 

Personality 219 

The Will 220 

Antinomianism . . . 221 

Beati Illi . 222 

Lebens Philosophie 222 

Take Heed and Beware 224 

A Vista 225 

The Valley of Vain Desires 229 

NOTES 243 



LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



PART I. 



ACCENTUAL SAPPHICS. 

When like dawn our Lady of Love, the deathless, 
Rose from waves that whisper around Cythera, 
She with both hands gave to the race of mortals 

Joy for a guerdon. 

Stretching arms ambrosial, she divided 
All her realm of beauty to be partaken ; 
This way marriage, help, and the hope of children 

Born in the homestead. 

Then she bent dim eyes of diviner yearning 
That way o'er foam-fretted and eager ocean, 
Till from darkness, yea, and the earth's foundations, 

Came a green island. 

Ringed with uncontrollable storms that threaten, 
Ringed with envious shoals and a tide rebellious. 
Fair it sleeps, and sirens around it alway 

Sing to the sunhght. 

Here the goddess set for the souls of poets 
Their abiding place, to be won with danger, 
Where for aye, unshaken and uncorrupted, 

Shines the ideal. 



LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



TWO MOODS OF THE MIND. 

O SAD and strange this aching mood 
Of souls that yearn in soHtude : 

wild and terrible this fire 

That firets the brain with blind desire, 
Bidding me rise before the morn 
With sleepless eyes and heart forlorn, 
Driving me forth at noon or night 
To chase an unattained dehght. 

1 cannot rest, for still one thought 
Pursues my spirit fever-fraught ; 
And what it is I scarce could say. 
Although it haunts me night and day. 
I sought to soothe this ache with song, 
But singing made my soul's thirst strong 
I strove to quench it by the strength 
Of study ; but I tired at length 

Of seeking, learning, finding nought. 
I tried to think, but all my thought 
Still brought me to the goal whereof 
The crown I could not seize was love. 
Now at the last I know my fate. 
To weave, though worn and desolate, 
For other men a woof of light 
And hope and knowledge infinite. 



TWO MOODS OF THE MIND, 

Artists have nought to seek or hold 

Of mirth or perishable gold. 

For them love is not love, nor bliss 

A darling thing to clasp and kiss : 

But in their poverty and want 

Lies wealth whereof the world is scant. 

While thus I mused, upon my soul there fell, 

Like the deep booming of a distant bell, 

A voice that gathered volume, cried, and said : 

' Ungrateful and oblivious of the dead ! 

Hast thou forgotten all thy friends so dear. 

Painter and bard, sculptor and sage and seer. 

Who lived and wrought and suffered and have won, 

In hearts that beat, a place beyond the sun ? 

Is it so little to be named among 

The least and lowhest of that radiant throng. 

That thou must needs with fainting soul and nerve 

Enfeebled by mere longing cease to serve ? 

Up, gird thy loins : lo, the break of day ! 

The stars are swallowed. Night is whirled away ! ' 

Then on mine eyes where tears had swum before. 

There flashed the vision of a radiant shore. 

Embowered with laurels to the laughing seas. 

And thronged with loves and living melodies. 

Where-through I wandered, and each grief of mine 

Became a joy immortal and divine : 

I gathered fruits, and on my brows were set 

Unfading flowers with dews of Lethe wet ; 



LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

And youths that smiled and men that loved flew by, 
And not a tear was seen in any eye ; 
Yea,, not one longing of my soul remained 
Unsatisfied, unslaked, or unattained ; 
For this fair region of perpetual good 
Was the dreamland of art's beatitude. 



LOVE IN DREAMS, 

Love hath its poppy-wreath, 

Not Night alone. 
I laid my head beneath 

Love's lilied throne : 
Then to my sleep he brought 

This anodyne — 
The flower of many a thought 

And fancy fine : 
A form, a face, no more ; 

Fairer than truth ; 
A dream from death's pale shore ; 

The soul of youth : 
A dream so dear, so deep, 

All dreams above, 
That still I pray to sleep — 

Bring Love back, Love ! 



ICH HOR' ES SO GAR IM TRAUM. 



ICH HOR' ES so GAR IM TRAUM. 

Sing on, sing on : half dreaming still 
I hear you singing, down the hill, 
Through the greenwood, beside the rill. 

Each to the other sing, sweet birds j 
Make music sweeter far than words ; 
Drown my still soul with song, dear birds. 

Under each starbeam there was sleep ; 
Far down the river wandered deep ; 
The woods closed round it still and steep. 

One watch-dog from the lone farm bayed ; 

The waterfowl beneath the shade 

Of sedge and flowering reed were laid. 

The birds sang on, and slumber shed 
Like silver clouds upon my head ; 
I slept, nor stirred me in my bed. 

Into my room he seemed to ghde ; 

The moonbeams through the window wide 

Snowed in upon my white bedside. 



8 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

He kissed my lips, he kissed my cheek ; 
I could not kiss him back nor speak : 
I feared the bHssful sleep to break. 

Sing louder, nightingales of May ! 
Sing, dash my golden dream away ! 
Sing anthems to the orient day ! 

The moonhght pales ; the grey cock crows ; 
A murmur in the tree top goes ; 
Sleep sheds her petals like a rose. 



TO ONE IN HEAVEN, 

The earth is new — it was thy love 

That made her new \ 
The heavens are new — it was thy love 

That made them new. 

Now thou art gone, while I alone 

Am left to face 
The wonder of a world unknown, 

A strange blank space. 

What right had Death 'twixt me and thee 

His scythe to sway? 
He cannot teach the soul of me 

A surer way. 



TO ONE IN HE A VEN. 

I want thee. Faith, hope, love are changed ; 

And I am weak : 
Old paths wherein my spirit ranged, 

I blindly seek. 

Yet, friend, though thou*art gone, through thee 

Mid all this new 
Maze of dim thought, dark mystery, 

I'll find the clue ! 



FORGET ME NEVER. 

Of our great love, Parthenophil, 
This little stone abideth still 

Sole sign and token : 
I seek thee yet, and yet shall seek, 
Though faint mine eyes, my spirit weak 

With prayers unspoken. 

Meanwhile, best friend of friends, do thou, 
If this the cruel fates allow 

By death's dark river. 
Among those shadowy people, drink 
No drop for me on Lethe's brink : 

Forget me never ! 



10 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



ON THE HILL-SIDE, 

The winds behind me in the thicket sigh, 

The bees fly droning on laborious wing, 
Pink cloudlets scarcely float across the sky, 

September stillness broods o'er every thing. 
Deep peace is in my soul : I seem to hear 

Catullus murmuring, ^ Let us live and love ; 
Suns rise and set, and fill the rolling year 

Which bears us deathward, therefore let us love ; 
Pour forth the wine of kisses, let them flow, 

And let us drink our fill before we die.' 
Hush ! in the thicket still the breezes blow ; 

Pink cloudlets sail across the azure sky ; 
The bees warp lazily on laden wing ; 
Beauty and stillness brood o'er every thing. 



NEW LIFE, NEW LOVE, 

April is in : 
New loves begin ! 
Up, lovers all, 
The cuckoos call ! 



NEW LIFE, NEW LOVE. ' n 

Winter is by, 
Blue shines the sky, 
Primroses blow- 
Where lay cold snow : 
Then why should I 
Sit still and sigh? 

Death took my dear : 
Oh pain, oh fear ! 
I know not whither. 
When flowers did wither. 
My summer love 
Flew far above. 

Now must I find 
One to my mind : 
The world is wide ; 
Spring fields are pied 
With flowers for thee. 
New love, and me ! 

April is in : 
New loves begin ! 
Up, lovers all. 
The cuckoos call ! 



12 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART, 



FOUR PICTURES BY BURNE JONES, 

FORTUNE. 

Captains and kings are fastened to her wheel, 

Which turns and turns : while she, close-veiled and 
blind, 

Thrusts her lean arm athwart them : head neath heel, 
And heel on head, they gasp and groan, entwined, 
A wreath of woe no mercy may unbind : 

For God who all things made, to Fortune gives 

Power to subdue the mightiest man that lives. 

FAME. 

Fame stands and blows a trumpet. Chest and thigh, 
Strained with the blast, like knotted cordage quiver. 

Whence hath he flown? From what empyrean sky 
Have those wings borne him, fiery-bright, that shiver 
Like burning towers reflected in a river ? 

Behold ! Behind him Fortune and her wheel 

Lie prone and shattered neath a naked heel. 

OBLIVION. 

Thou too art strong and eagle-winged : but oh ! 
How pale as death is yon broad bosom, bent 



FOUR PICTURES BY BURNE JONES. 1 3 

Over the restless scythe, that to and fro 

Sweeps, while the mower, on his task intent. 
Looks not to left or right. Mangled and rent 

Are Fame's fair wings ; like Fortune's wheel, his horn 

Was but a plaything for Oblivion's scorn. 

LOVE. 

Ah, Love ! And thou hast slain him ? With what charm, 
Scattering rose-leaves on that stubborn scythe. 

Hast thou avenged the world of so much harm ? 
Oblivion neath thy smile hath ceased to writhe. 
How wert thou bold, oh, tender-limbed and lithe — 

Mere rosy-pinioned stripling — to assail 

Him before whom Fame, Fortune's lord, must quail? 



Die MIHI QUID FECI, NISI NON 
SAPIENTER AMAVI? 

A PICTURE BY BURNE JONES. 

She leans with yearning from the enamoured tree. 
While passionate petals, shaken by her strain, 
From the frail boughs around her whiteness rain, 
Pearhng with shells of rose the dewy lea : 
But he who walks thereunder, with what pain 
He feels these sudden arms enthrallingly 
Wound round his wistful heart, and knows that she 



14 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Clasps him once more, never to clasp again ! 

O Love relentless ; wherefore wilt thou wring 
This bitter-sweet of souls from their embrace ? 

Might she not bloom like other trees and fling 
Her tearless petals in a tranquil place, 
Nor thrust the pallid anguish of her face 

Forth to his face for fruitless sorrowing ? 



LOVE AMONG THE RUINS. 

Save us, dear lord ; for, lo, our house is waste 
With what long strain of inexpressible woe ! 

Her pure and lightsome chambers are defaced : 
Thorned cankers in her goodly gardens blow ; 
And the fair carven chapter lieth low. 

Pride, sweetness, splendour, all delights of life, 

Have vanished in the one grim sickening strife. 

Yet save us, lord ! for should thy feet still fall 

Upon the broken pavement, flowers would spring : 

Should thy voice through the midday darkness call. 
Music would wake and wave her aery wing : 
Shouldst thou but smile, we once again might sing. 

And, though we may not build, at least no more 

Break what remains of this thy house of yore. 



SPRING. — SUMMER. 1 5 



SPRING. 

White as peeled willow-wands ableach in May 
Are all her vestments, and her face is frail 

As wavering wind-flowers or the scented spray 
Of wild hedge-roses : on her head the pail 
Foams with fresh milk ; and tufts of galingale 

With cowslips mingled and the pensive hue 

Of bluebells, neath her footing shed their dew. 

Singing she wends ; nor thought nor shade of care 
Dwells on her forehead \ for the year is young : 

Black winter dies ; and in the tranquil air 

The promise of spring flowers, and carols sung 
By nightingales, and the glad cuckoo's tongue, 

Proclaim new life, and lengthening days, and nights 

Shortened to serve for sleepless Love's delights. 



SUMMER. 



O SWEET and strange what time grey morning steals 
Over the misty flats, and gently stirs 

Bee-laden limes and pendulous abeles, 
To brush the dew-bespangled gossamers 
From meadow grasses, and beneath black firs 

In limpid streamlets or translucent lakes 

To bathe amid dim heron-haunted brakes I 



1 6 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

O sweet and sumptuous at height of noon 
Languid to he on scented summer-lawns, 

Fanned by faint breezes of the breathless June ; 
To watch the timorous and trooping fawns, 
Dappled like tenderest clouds in early dawns, 

Forth from their ferny covert glide to drink 

And cool lithe limbs beside the river's brink ! 

O strange and sad ere daylight disappears. 
To hear the creaking of the homeward wain. 

Drawn by its yoke of tardy-pacing steers, 
Neath honeysuckle hedge and tangled lane j 
To breathe faint scent of roses on the wane 

By cottage doors, and watch the mellowing sky 

Fade into saffron hues insensibly ! 



HARVEST, 



The west is purple, and a golden globe. 

Sphered with new-risen moonlight, hangs between 

The skirts of evening's amethystine robe 

And the round world bathed in the steady sheen. 
There bending o'er a sickle bright and keen. 

Rests from his long day's labour one whose eyes 

Are fixed upon the large and luminous skies : 



HARVEST. 17 

An earnest man he seems with yellow hair, 

And yellow neath his scythe-sweep are the sheaves ; 
Much need hath he to waste the nights with care, 
Lest waking he should hear from dripping eaves 
The plash of rain, or hail among thin leaves. 
Or melancholy waiHngs of a wind. 
That lays broad field and furrow waste behind : 

Much need hath he the live-long day to toil. 
Sweeping the golden granaries of the plain, 

Until he garner all the summer's spoil, 

And store his gaping barns with heavy grain ; 
Then will he sleep, nor heed the plash of rain, 

But with gay wassail and glad winter cheer 

Steel a stout heart against the coming year. 



LINES WRITTEN INSIDE A COPY OF 
PARADISE LOST. 

Ploughing the trough of the salt sun-dimpled Ionian 

billows. 
Under Parnassian peaks and Arcady's own Erymanthus ; 
Lying limb-length on the hills 'mid thyme and innocent 

eyebright, 
While overhead blue heaven was bowed hke a dome on the 

mountain ; 



1 8 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Through resounding pines and the roar of cataracts 

raging 
Down black beetled crags where winds incessantly 

wrangle ; 
Thee have I read, little book, and found in thy pages the 

music, 
Multitudinous, mighty, outpoured from the organ of 

Milton, 
Matching the waves in their breadth, and the hills in their 

strength, and the pine-woods 
Voiced with a thousand winds, and the wild waterfalls in 

their volume. 



ANY SCULPTOR TO ANY MODEL, 

I KNOW not any thing more fair than thou. — 
God give me strength to feel thee, power to speak 
Through this dumb clay and marble all the thoughts 
That rise within my spirit while I gaze ! — 
What saith the Scripture ? In His image God 
Shaped man, and breathed into his nostrils breath 
Of life. — Here then, as nowhere else, shines God ; 
The Thought made flesh, the world's soul breathing soft 
And strong, not merely through those lips and eyes. 
But in each flawless limb, each mighty curve, 
Each sinew moulded on the moving form. 
Until thou camest, the world and all it held 



AJVV SCULPTOR TO ANY MODEL. 1 9 

Was even as Memnon ere he felt the sun ; 

Then Man stepped forth, the Spirit sprang to light, 

Earth found her voice, and heaven with music thrilled. 

Nought is there therefore in thee but is pure. 

Perfect, compact of correspondences, 

Whereby the poems of the soul are read 

In symbols fashioned from the plastic form. 

Yea, it is mine by Art, the hierophant 

Of myriads when these moving lips are dumb. 

To find thy meaning, and to speak it forth 

Through marble and through bronze that shall not fade ; 

Making thy moulded shape — not face alone. 

But hands, breast, lifted arms, firm limbs, that tell 

Of service, strength, will, conquest, energy — 

One message for the minds of those that know. 



THE SINGER. 

He fills the world with his singing, 
High notes of the heavenly morn 

For ever and ever ringing 
As age after age is born. 

And then he is still, and we know not 
Whither his thoughts have fled ; 

Only the clear notes flow not. 
And we say, the singer is dead. 



20 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

But the nightingales that he cherished, 

They carol and cannot die ; 
Though the man whom we loved hath perished, 

His melody throbs for aye. 



EYE BRIGHT. 



As a star from the sea new risen. 
As the waft of an angel's wing. 

As a lark's song heard in prison. 

As the promise of summer in spring, 

She came to me through the stillness. 
The shadows that ring me round, 

The dungeon of years and illness 
Wherein my spirit is bound. 

She came with her eyes love-laden. 
Her laughter of lily and rose, 

A fragile and flower-like maiden. 
In the season of frosts and snows. 

She smiled, and the shades departed ; 

She shone, and the snows were rain ; 
And he who was frozen-hearted 

Bloomed up into love again. 



A NOCTURNE. — A FANCY. 21 



A NOCTURNE. 

The clouds upon the hills hold sleep ; 
I hear the thunder of the leap 
Of cataracts from steep to steep. 

She sleeps who on my breast so long 
Breathed, as a soft and drowsy song 
Breathes in the brain sad thoughts among. 

Yet I sleep not ; for far away, 
Rocked only on the tide of tears, 
In that still curtained chamber grey 
One lies alone till break of day, — 

One lies who loves me, one who hears 
The murmur of the hills alway 
In dreams, and lives again the years. 
And longs and prays and trusts and fears. 



A FANCY. 



A CAPTIVE leaning from his tower 
Looked forth and doted on a flower : 
The flower beneath his prison-bar 
Bloomed like a bright unconscious star. 



22 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Unknown, unseen, a lover stood 

In ecstasy of solitude ; 

Before his eyes the loved one there 

Unthinking flourished free and fair. 

The captive and the lover grew 
► ^ Day after day more faint of hue ; 

Day after day the girl and flower 
Put forth fresh beauties hour by hour. 



SORROW SONG, 

A WEST wind wailing round the eaves, 
Faint honey-dew on fading leaves, 
The perfume of a flower that cleaves 
To loosened hair : 

The sobbing of a July storm, 
Dreams of a half-remembered form, 
An eagle's nest that once was warm, 

Now robbed and bare ; 

A wandering child that seeks her home, 
A flake of wind-tormented foam, 
Unshriven ghosts that shrieking roam 
The midnight air : 



SORROW SONG. 23 

Music that dwindles on the ear, 
Dim destinies of doubtful cheer, 
Quenched orbs, and stars that disappear. 
Dead foreheads fair : 

So mingled are the mists that chill 
My spirit with vague fears of ill. 
That drowse my brain and freeze my will 
With mute despair. 



FAREWELL. 



Thou goest : to what distant place 
Wilt thou thy sunlight carry? 

I stay with cold and clouded face : 
How long am. I to tarry? 

Where'er thou goest, morn will be ; 

Thou leavest night and gloom to me. 

The night and gloom I can but take ; 

I do not grudge thy splendour : 
Bid souls of eager men awake ; 

Be kind and bright and tender. 
Give day to other worlds ; for me 
It must suffice to dream of thee. 



24 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



AN ALLEGORY. 

A FLOWER I had, fairest of all that bloom, 

Dull-hued, but exquisite with faint perfume 

And shape imperial : in a vase I set 

The tender roots and frail stem delicate — 

A vase of agate, with fierce crimson stains 

And fiery blood-clots and deep purple veins 

Through palest opal flushing : to the brim 

On either side, twining with tender hmb 

And hair blown into foam-flakes, sorrow-sweet. 

Clung carven Nereids ; and their silver feet. 

Stayed on the broad base of the vase, their hands, 

Joined midway 'neath its curling lip, with bands 

Of wire -drawn gold were linked, like hers who lay 

Spray-sprent to monsters of the deep a prey. 

Here planted I my flower and watched her grow. 

Veined leaf expand, and dusky petal blow 

With subtle scent indefinitely suave : 

Then with pure draughts of rain-dew did I lave 

Daily the delicate filaments that through 

Soft mould and moss their dainty juices drew; 

Hoping that haply ere the spring had set 

Dawnlike in summer's day, the violet 

Of those dull buds to sanguine flame might burn. 

And all my flower with fire transfigured yearn 



AN ALLEGORY. 2$ 

Of hues intense and fragrance passionate : 

For, said my books, of old at Eden gate 

This flower liad flaunted — yea, if warmly wooed. 

Might doff once more her weeds of widowhood : 

So wooed and waited I ; then, for that yet 

No brighter blush upon her bloom was set, 

But maidenlike and cold, for all my care. 

She drew but darkness from the ripening air, 

I from my veins let flow the ruddy tide. 

And watered her with hot heart-blood, and spied 

The crimson stream above the mosses foam 

And sink life-fraught into the thirsty loam : 

Wherefrom my plant took strength and mounted higher : — 

Yet as the days drew on no fiercer fire 

Flamed on her petals ; but green wealth of shoot 

And sappy sucker and pale purple fruit 

O'er-flowered her branches, and those sorrow-sweet 

Eyes of the carven Nereids throbbed and beat 

Pale sparks into my brain, and I more white 

Than cherry flowers in April drained the bright 

Fountains of life within my flesh, and grew 

Fainter for every shower of priceless dew 

Squandered. Ah me ! The spring to summer passed. 

And summer sank to autumn ; till at last. 

Woe-wearied in my watching, crazed and spent 

With utter loss and wild bewilderment, 

I pressed the bed of fever. Earnest men 

Sustained and with kind service watched me then, 

And cool and slow and silent were the hours ; 

The while two patient eager-hearted powers, 



26 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Dim Life and fierce-eyed Death, strove for my soul. 
I notliing knew ; but in the strong control 
Of slumber fluttered like a feeble thing ; 
Till with the winnowing of his downy wing 
Death brushed my forehead and withdrew, and I 
Gazed once more conscious on the wintry sky ; 
And by my side the fair flower ever green 
Stood shorn of blossoms, and the opal sheen 
Of that carved vase mirrored a thin wan face. 

Then I arising knew again the place. 
Where crazed with wilful fancy I had dreamed 
An idle dream, and my past passion seemed 
Mere madness j for the flower, fed with pure dew. 
As erst with blood, flourished no less, but drew 
Strong draughts of life-juice for another spring 
Of soulless beauty and dull blossoming. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 

Down from the hills divine the waters glide. 

From the white snow-wreaths down the mountain side, 

And in the salt sea-foam their sweetness hide. 

Day after day the steady cliffs and steep 

Silently crumble like the shapes of sleep. 

And on their broken basement dreams the deep. 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 2/ 

The clouds come sailing from the windy West 
Over the limitless blue ocean's breast, 
But in the bitter East they find no rest. 

Foam-flakes of snow across the fields are blown 
Where, underneath, the sleeping grain is strown, 
And on the wold the winds of winter moan. 

I left the highland of my hopes for thee, 
Downward I hurried full of love and glee, 
But in thy bosom found the barren sea. 

My heart that seemed so strong to bear the blows 
Of chance and change, false friends and fated foes. 
Melts downward daily wasting with fresh woes. 

Weeping I bear the freight of holy tears. 
And loving words, and hopes, and idle fears, 
And whispered sighs to thy unheeding ears. 

Now hath the winter of my life begun ; 

Thy blinding drifts are tossed against the sun, 

And o'er my frozen soul thy whirlwinds run. 



THE REJECTED SUPPLIANT, 

A PILGRIM to your shrine I came ; 
I sprinkled myrrh upon the flame — 
Myrrh of my spirit, tears and sighs. 
With eloquence of earnest eyes. 



28 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART, 

I Strewed the temple-steps with flowers — 
Laughter and love and honeyed hours, 
All that my April had to yield 
From scented copse and lihed field. 

I wreathed the chapel-walls with bays, 
Laurels of song and sounding praise. 
Bright burnished leaves of wit that shines 
For ever in melodious lines. 

I clasped your casket round with gems, 
With mooned pearls and coral stems, 
For which I dived into the sea 
Of azure-eyed philosophy. 

Unto the altar-horns I tied 
Captives and victims — slaughtered pride - 
Poured forth the blood of years, and slew 
My hopes a holocaust for you. 

Before your face I lighted fires — 
Torches of innocent desires. 
And holy humble joys that shine 
In crystal urns or opaline. 

I filled the dome with chaunt and hymn, 
From hps of living cherubim — 
The fiery host of thoughts, that ne'er 
Forgot their task of praise and prayer. 



THE REJECTED SUPPLIANT ' 29 

Beneath your feet I made my bed ; 
Sackcloth and sand and straw I laid, 
That lying thus I still might be 
Wakeful if you should summon me. 

But all was vain : no word, no sign, 
From mouth or forehead marble-fine, 
Hath sounded through the years to bless 
Your servant in his sore distress. 

I waited, and I watched my prime 
Grow faint beneath the feet of time ; 
Now watch and wait no more I can, 
Lest I should cease to be a man. 

Up then ! 'tis night : the temple-door 
Stands open : from the jewelled floor 
I turn : no voice recalls me : so 
Forth to the wilderness I go. 



MENE, MENE. 



That precious priceless gift, a soul 
Unto thyself surrendered whole. 
Withdrawn from all but thy control, 

Thou hast foregone. 



30 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

The throne where none might sit but thou, 
The crown of love to bind thy brow, 
Glad homage paid with praise and vow. 

Thou hast foregone. 

I do not blame thee utterly, 
But rather strive to pity thee, 
Remembering all the empery 

Thou hast foregone. 

It was thy folly, not thy crime. 

To have contemned the call sublime. 

The realm more firm than fate or time 

Thou hast foregone. 



IN DREAMLAND. 

Down among the grey green sallows 
Runs a cool translucent stream. 

Rippling over pebbly shallows 
Like the Lethe of Love's dream. 

Broadening into pools of amber 

Under rocks where wild vines clamber, 
And the lilac wind-flowers gleam. 



IN DREAMLAND. 3 1 

There the turf is smooth and mossy, 

Still unshorn and ever new ; 
Each young shoot and herblet glossy 

Drinks at eve the tender dew : 
For no storms assail the garden, 
Frosts nor winds the rathe leaves harden, 

And the heavens are hazy blue. 

On the boughs the quinces mellow 

Mid the dim green shades above, 
Spheres of purest palest yellow 

With the scent that speaks of love ; 
Proserpine's pomegranates under 
Ripen, redden, fall asunder, 

Gem with gold the myrtle grove. 

High o'erhead sleep-cradled zeph)nrs 

Sway the bay boughs to and fro. 
Over meads where milk-white heifers 

Knee-deep in the grasses go ; 
And where'er the streamlet wanders, 
Faint-hued fragrant oleanders 

Drop their petals soft as snow. 

In a dream Night led me thither, 

And I saw assembled here 
All the loves that bloom and wither 

In our gross terrestrial sphere ; 



32 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Mid the myrtles, on the meadows, 
All the joys that leave but shadows, 
All the days that disappear : 

Changed to flowers and very quiet, 
Fragrant in perpetual spring. 

After life's uneasy riot 

Folded under death's broad wing, 

Gathered, garnered in a slumber 

Which no waking dreams encumber, 
Where remembrance hath no sting. 



LEUKE. 



LEUKE, 



Mid the bleak billows of the Euxine sea. 
In solitude and silence, far withdrawn 
From sight or sound of vexed humanity, 

There sleeps the island Leuk^ j on whose lawn 
Shines a white temple-front, with pillars fair. 
And porches turned to greet the ascendant dawn. 

The brazen gates stand open to the air : 

The cell lies tenantless : no human hands 

E'er touched the inmost shrine with priestly care. 

But on the wind-swept, smooth, unfooted sands. 
Where wild waves lap, there dwell broad-winged birds 
In sweet societies and silvery bands. 

With golden beaks and feathers white as curds, 
Whose prey is in the waters, and whose ear 
Hath ne'er been startled yet by mortal words. 

35 



36 LEUKE. 

Their task it is through the revolving year 

To tend that hero's temple : day by day, 

What time the sun's bright coursers upward steer, 

Wetting their pinions in the salt sea-spray, 
With weird sea-cries and clash of circling wings, 
Up from their soft nests on the sandy bay 

Like flakes of snow they flock. Each halcyon brings 
The burden of his plumage pure with brine ; 
Purges the gleaming altar ; wheels, and flings 

Presents of pearls and corals on the shrine ; 
Sweeps the smooth marble walls with pinions wide, 
Striving his best to make the temple fine. — 

Such charge gave Thetis to the watchful-eyed 
Brood of the bitter sea-foam, for the sake 
Of him, the hero-son, who was her pride j 

For here, 'tis said, Achilles rest will take. 
What time he wearies of the Elysian mead. 
Or spares the wild boar in the Idan brake. 

Be this as this may be, it is my creed 
That Peleus' son is still a hero blest ; 
For he was fair, and born of noble breed. 

And stout the lion-heart within his breast ; 
Young too he died, and divine Homer sung 
His deeds in verse that shall outhve the best : 



LEUKE. 37 

Nay, more ! the friend to whom in life he clung, 
In death he succoured ; love so strong, so sore. 
Sustained him that the sea-queen's warning tongue 
Turned not his fleet feet from the fatal shore. 



II. 

While thus I mused on Leuk^, o'er my soul 
Sleep passed ; but ere boon slumber held my brain 
In deep night's irresistible control, 

I blent that old-world story with the strain 

Of nearer memories : and now, methought, 

I walked with him whose love is life's great gain, 

Across smooth snow-fields, and a roof was wrought 

Over our heads of rosy sunset flame. 

Wherein two lustrous lights of heaven were caught : 

For lo, the thin moon and keen Hesper came 
Together mid those fiery waves, and we 
Leaped up to greet in them Love's oriflamme. 

What words were ours, O friend ! How fervently 
We spake of comradeship, that lamp of love. 
Starlike descried by those who wait and see, 

Firm in the faith and hope they may not prove ! — 
Therefore, ere slumber seized me, memories twain 
Waved their blent plumes my drowsed sense above. 



38 LEUKE. 

But when thought merged in dreaming, once again 
I swept smooth waters in a trembhng bark, 
Oared by six stahvart brazen-breasted men. 

Late sunset paled above me ; hke a spark 

Burned Hesper, darting silvery rays between 

Two wings of cloud that shook the threatening dark 

From their devouring pinions \ and a green 
Island uprose to westward, lone and still, 
Where nought but one grey man was dimly seen. 

Bowed as in slumber, or grief terrible ; 
Bending the weight of tawny curls upon 
His knees in-gathered to the breast, and still 

Clasped by firm hands of strength, though pale and wan, 
He more than mortal slept, or seemed to sleep ; 
While on his head heaven rained full rays, and shone. 

' Who art thou. Lord and Master ? ' Forth did leap, 
Fledged with Greek word-wings, from my lips the cry 
That in my prescient spirit brooded deep. 

Raising the wonder of his face on high 
To drink those floods of starlight, silverly 
Poured from the waning pallor of the sky, 

He smiled a little space ; then looked at me : 
' Here, long before thy Christ was born, I dwelt ; 
Here still must bide the golden days to be : 



LEUK^. 39 

^ I am not dead ; I sleep not ; I have felt 

Each pulse the world's heart made, and well I know 

How with the seed of men high God hath dealt : 

' Therefore I wait ; swift years may come and go, 
But my youth cannot fade, nor my star wane : 
Yea, still I hope, and still rejoice ; for lo, 

^The day soon cometh, when across the main 
A mighty bard forth from the West will flee 
On wings of song to set me free again : 

' Then shall I rise like morning ; men shall see 
My beauty ; the wide world shall bless my name, 
Yielding glad homage to my Deity.' 

Winged with light Greek, to me this answer came. 
Wherefore once more I strove to murmur : ^ Lord, 
May I too help ? ' Again he smiled, and flame 

Woke in his eyes. Then from the turfy sward 
That lipped those tranquil waters, bending down, 
He plucked one purple bell divinely starred. 

And tossed it to me : but, methought, a crown 
Of those same violet blossoms in his hair 
Was woven with bay leaves and myrtles brown. 

Therewith his curls he shook ; and on the air 
Fell silvery syllables of vowelled Greek : 
' Be this for thee a token ! Unaware, 



40 LEUKE. 

' Thou also servest, though thy sight be weak ! 
My hour is not yet come ; but when that hour 
Cometh, behold I shall no longer speak 

' The tongues of buried nations ! ' — Here the power 
Of sleep was broken ; but I knew that he 
Was Love, who thus in dreams had talked with me. 
Wherefore I rose, and plucked of song this flower. 

ni. 

Thou shalt live ! Men shall call to each other : 

Behold a new star in the skies ! 
Our Master, our Comrade, our Brother, 

All hail for the light of thine eyes ! 

For the Poet whose words are as thunder, 
Shall sail from the waves of the West, 

With melody cleaving asunder 

The blackness of night in thy breast. 

He shall come when the day is ascendant. 
When the dews of the dawn are yet young ; 

From the prow of his galley resplendent 
The rays of the East shall be flung. 

He shall cry to thee : Come to us, Master ! 

And slumber shall fall from thine eyes ; 
The pulse in thy heart shall beat faster ; 

Yea, Love, thou shalt leap and arise ! 



LEUKE. 

And the words of thy message Hke honey- 
Shall fall from the flower of thy mouth, 

With music more sweet than the sunny 
Dead speech of the delicate South. 

Men stalwart and bearded shall listen ; 

Young men shall rejoice in their pride ; 
And the eyes of fair striplings shall glisten, 

While they cry to thee : Master, abide ! 

Come forth from thine island, and teach us 
The truth of those excellent things. 

Whereof the strange melodies reach us 
On world-weary musical wings ! 

Come forth : let the past and the present 
Clasp hands o'er the ocean of time : 

The sun of the West is yet crescent ; 
The year of our youth's at its prime ! 



41 



AN IMPROVISATION ON 
THE VIOLIN. 



AN IMPROVISATION ON THE VIOLIN. 

SONATA QUASI UNA FANTASIA. 

O HEART, false heart, why tearest thou me again ? 
May not the quick soul-fire be quenched, the fount 
Of tears be wasted in the withered eyes ? 
Are there yet men for whom my breast must bleed, 
My soul be shattered ? Ah ! most pitiless Muse ! 
Am I not deaf and very old with sorrow? 

Nay, Power implacable ! I heed thee not ! 
Thou, and thy steadfast eyes and wings that soar 
Straight to the centre of the sun — Forbear ! 
Forbear them ! lest I perish — nay, sweet Queen ! 
Lest, like some lonely pelican, I feed 
My fasting children with hfe-blood and die ! 

Ah me ! in vain I plead ! Hark how the chords 
Come crowding — how like hammer-strokes they fall 
The measured blows of brazen-fingered Fate. 

45 



46 AN IMPROVISATION ON THE VIOIIN 

Of brazen-footed Fate the heavy tread, 

Of brazen wings the winnowing. Stroke on stroke, 

On the vexed anvil of my soul they throb, 

Pauseless. Did thus the Titan groan, whom Zeus 

Rove to the houseless rock and gave a prey 

To frost and fire and the sharp vulture's beak? 

Did he thus idly wrestle ? Till the dews 

Of evening fell, and from the nether mist 

Rose maiden choirs of Oceanides 

To soothe his sorrow. Even so my soul 

Melts with melodious ministration, soothes 

Her sorrow in the solace of a song ; 

Fitfully floats upon the wings of dreaming. 

Flutters and floats. Dim faces of the past, 

Dear voices which I heard but hear no more, 

The laughter and the love of long ago, 

Sphere me with sweetness. But — ah ! woe is me ! 

Again the chords come crashing ! No, no, no ! 

The brazen tongue of Fate, the trumpet-tongue, 

Scornfully — through the chambers of my brain 

Blown like a crack of doom — scatters the dream. 

And slays me ! Now the trampling of swift steeds — 

Now the sharp clangour of the jarring car : — 

Where will ye whirl me ? Flames around the wheels 

Bicker, and iron hooves on flinty ways 

Strike sparks : I feel the fury of strong winds ! 

Ay ! combat ; toss me down the sleety surge ; 

Sustain and slacken ; buffet me with blows ; — 

I can endure. Mid-way the stars are rolled 



AN IMPROVISATION ON THE VIOLIN. 47 

In azure, and the solemn night rides clear. 

I mark the billows of high hilltops laid 

Beneath me : on the dark, as on a sea, 

Forward I sail. The tumult and the din 

Die downward : but soul-terror, like a spell, 

Broods on this solitude. The leaden chords 

Fall one by one, like raindrops, when a storm 

Weeps out her last low sob and down the hills 

Draws early twihght. Hush ! what sounds are these ? 

Rustling of leaves on beechen boughs and birch 

And branches of green oak. Athwart them glides 

Clear summer sunlight, and a breeze above 

Sings summer-laden with fresh scent of flowers. 

The woodland laughs, and peeping faces peer, 

Faunlike or Satyrlike ! Even so I strayed. 

Years since, through forest-aisles, and sang ; while yet 

The hours flew not uncomforted of song. 

Nor on insensible ears this veil had fallen 

Deadening like drifted snow the feet of sound. 

Ah ! dark and lonely — very lone and dark — 

Shut out, ah me ! from human speech, my soul 

Pines like a banished thing of shame apart. 

Mourns like an orphan ! Yea, when cities ring, 

Wrought by my melodies to rapture, I, 

Their maker, through the symphonies and hymns. 

Through the triumphant trumpet-clang and wail 

Of passionate viols and pathetic flutes, 

Sit, see the tears that flow, the earnest eyes. 

The fiery souls forth-gazing — sit unmoved. 



48 AN IMPROVISATION ON THE VIOLIN. 

Of all those eager and impetuous crowds 
Passionless alone and cold — except for sorrow ! 

Yet even thus I triumph ! Even thus, 

Through silence and dark dungeon-hours unsunned, 

With thee, thou prisonless angel, soul of song. 

That seekest not for sound of pipe or flute, 

Or resonant tube, or human voice divine, 

I commune ! Thou dost visit me and wave 

Thy wings harmonious at the bars that seal 

My cell, painting with splendour the dull walls ! 



So mused the master ; while, as if in wrath, 

The vexed reverberations of his viol. 

Fitfully stricken, like a lute that lies 

Forgotten by some window-chink and bears 

The rude caresses of the wandering wind, 

Flung to the void tones dissonantly jangled. 

With here a shuddering shriek, and here a discord. 

Sharp as the rasped teeth of a rusty saw. 

Wrenched from the scrannel strings. Yet that gi*eat soul 

Lay pent within close prison walls, nor heard 

How the racked viol, like a tortured fiend, 

Made music unmelodious ; but heard 

The everlasting harmonies, and through 

The sphery regions of sidereal song 

Voyaged ; his large eyes vacant, and his brow 

Bent with its weight of curls upon the bow. 



POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 



HESPERUS AND HYMEN^US. 

OR, THE SHEPHERD AND THE STAR. 

Sh. Hesper, thou golden light of happy Love, 
Hesper, thou holy pride of purple eve, 
Moon among stars, but star beside the moon, 
Hail, friend ! and since the young moon sets to-night 
Too soon below the mountain, trim thy lamp 
To guide me to the shepherd whom I love. 
No theft I purpose : no wayfaring man, i 
Belated, would I watch and make my prey. 
Love is my goal ; and love how fair it is. 
When friend meets friend sole in the silent night, 
Thou knowest, Hesper. 

H. Yea, indeed I know : 

Doth not this eye, immortal steadfast fire. 
Set in the dewy forehead of mild eve. 
See all things ? Listen, shepherd, and beguile 
Thy way by hearing how a god can love. 

Sh. Speak, Hesper, I will listen ; and for 'this 

51 



52 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

Thy shrine shall never lack the gift of flowers 
And golden honey and sweet myrrh and wine. 

H. It was the prime of summer, when the sheep 
Seek their deep-sheltered valleys, and the goats 
Crop bitter blossom by the barren shore : 
I, leaning from the mountain in the glow 
Of golden eve, down the long-wandering stream 
Cast my still, tremulous ray, until the rocks 
Broadened that held the rill, and made a pool 
Cold, crystal, overhung with feathery fern 
And lemon-boughs, dropping pale maiden tresses 
Star-sprent with blossoms to the nymph below. 
One nightingale, the last of all her choir. 
Thrilled in the thicket : Love, love, love, she cried. 
Pouring the passion of her lonely song. 
There my rays rested : there my influence lay ; 
And the mild nymph rose from her rocky cave 
To play upon the pool. When hush ! through the grove 
Bounding, loud singing, crowned with roses, came 
The shepherd Hymenseus, hot with wine 
From dame Demeter's banquet : the goatskin 
Flew from his shoulder, and the marble limbs. 
White, god-like, tinged with crimson, shone below 
As if a light were in them. My pale star 
Grew, palpitating, glowed beneath his gaze. 
And all the pool shimmered with living splendour. 
He leaping in was clasped in my embrace : — 
Ah, Hymenseus ! never more to be 
A simple shepherd on Thessalian hills, 



HESPERUS AND HYMEN^US. 53 

To pipe and dance and shear the silly sheep, 
To sleep at noontide under murmuring pines, 
Or in the ivy-curtained cave to sing 
Sweet love-lorn ditties to dark Thestylis, 
To dwell beside the slender cypress-tree 
In that white cottage near thy native stream. 
To gaze far over olives to the sea, 
Blue, flecked with snowy sails, to climb at eve 
The withered hill-side after wandering goats. 
To live and die an unremembered swain ! 
-For thou wert fair ! — He, floating in my arms. 
Saddened, grew sober, looked into the sky : 
The tall trees vibrated, the crystal dome 
Trembled, and all the odorous love-sick air 
Sighed in the song of the lorn nightingale ; 
Till the boy wept, yearned, longed to reach my light, 
And grew forgetful of his village home. 
Then I spoke, speaking as I speak to thee : — 
Arise, O shepherd, leave the valley lawns. 
Leave the white sheep to glimmer on the lea ; 
Rise, for my star upon the mountain dawns. 
And heaven in sapphire silence yearns for thee. 
Climb the grey crags and thread the dusk ravine 
Where filmy veils of vapour downward drop : 
My star shall guide thee, shining fair between 
The gaunt grey pines and gleaming mountain top. 
The snows of Oeta round her ledges lie. 
The stones are sharp for tender feet like thine ; 
Long is the road that scales the toilsome sky 



54 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

And joins thy burning heart to love divine. 
Yet faint not, fail not : even now my lips 
Sleep pale upon the lilies of thy brow, 
And in thy steadfast eyes my starlight dips 
Her thirsty rays with thy pure light to glow. 
Arise, O shepherd, even now my beam 
Encircles thee with webs of throbbing fire ; 
From Oeta's horns I bend, and panting stream 
My godhood round thy limbs to lift thee higher. 
Dead is the day ; his rosy lips are cold j 
And yellow all the tracts of pathless snow : 
My star alone, in lucid amber rolled, 
Gleams to thy valley ghostly grey below. 
Now is my hour. My lamp of love in heaven 
Flames yet before night's tardy trampling steed. 
And, ere the stars flash forth, to me is given 
Power o'er the air my winged wish to speed. 
So thou art mine ; and when I sink below 
The luminous edges of yon western cloud. 
Thou too shalt pass, and in my empire know 
The joy that makes the starry circles loud. 
Swathed in my arms thy youthful limbs shall steam 
With light as hills with vapour, and thy hair. 
Bright as a phosphorous meteor, far shall seem 
To spread a trailing glory through the air : 
And men shall say. Behold yon wondrous sight — 
A youth — a cloud of brightness — on the bar 
Of sunset, lo, he stands, and in the light 
Of Hesper trembles with the trembling star. 



HESPERUS AND HYMEN^US. 55 

I ceased, and heaven was silent. From the stream 
My hght had faded : one by one the stars 
Flushed into brightness ; but behind the hills 
Glimmering I rested. By the darkened pool 
Sad Hymenaeus, pale and startled, threw 
Wild wondering upward arms and eager eyes 
To the cold, cloven, unrelenting horns ; 
Then sighed, and ceasing not his steadfast gaze, . 
All night he travelled, all next day he rose 
Beneath the calm brows of the journeying sun ; 
But, when eve drew her dusky veil, he stood, 
Forehead to forehead, breast to breast, with me — 
With me the god, clad in my silver glory — 
And earth lay low beneath him. Shepherd, stay ! 
There is a land behind the western cloud, 
A low deep meadow land of ceaseless spring 
And everlasting twilight : olives there 
Shed a perpetual shade of softened lustre 
Like woven light on the green grass below ; 
Where foam-white asphodels, tall milky blossoms, 
Shimmer with interchange of hyacinth. 
Blood-red anemone, and faint narcissus ; 
And the blue violet strays in sweet tangles, 
Seen and unseen, by pool and running brook. 
Lulling the sense with fragrance ; while a song 
Rocks in the odorous height of spreading pine 
x\nd spiry cypress and aerial palm. 
There Hymenseus dwells with me, what time 
We rest from roaming the star-spangled sky. 



56 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

There all good lovers, after toilsome life, 

Lie raimented with everlasting youth. 

And thee, too, shepherd, we will welcome there, 

If to young Myrtilus thy faith thou keep : 

For this is virtue, when a friend with friend 

Linked in strong bonds of union, lets the years 

Flow over them unheeded, sees the flower 

Of boyhood perish, and man's strength appear, 

Yet alters not, but grows in tenderness 

And mutual reverence and equal love ; 

Till the grey-bearded village sires approve. 

Nodding their heads, and cry, the age of gold 

Comes round again when lovers thus can lead 

Pure wedded lives of Achilleian honour. 

Sh. Thanks, Hesper, the long mountain path is 
done ; 
The cypress shivers by the shepherd's door ; 
And thou art near thy setting : thanks to thee, 
Hesper, of all true lovers guide and friend, 
Thyself of lovers chief among the gods. 



THE FEET OF THE BELOVED. 57 

THE FEET OF THE BELOVED. 

Fear not to tread ; it is not much 

To bless the meadow with your touch : 

Nay, walk unshod ; for, as you pass, 

The dust will take your feet like grass. 

O dearest melodies, O beat 

Of musically moving feet ! 

Stars that have fallen from the sky 

To sparkle where you let them lie ; 

Blossoms, a new and heavenly birth, 

Rocked on the nourishing breast of earth ; 

Dews that on leaf and petal fling 

Multitudinous quivering ; 

Winged loves with light and laughter crowned ; 

Kind kisses pressed upon the ground ! 



FJ^OM MAXIM US TYRIUS. 
I. 

A GOODLY form thou seest, a face in bloom. 
And Hmbs that bear the bud of ripening days ; 

Touch not, corrupt not ; spare the faint perfume ; 
Pass like a wayfarer with honest praise. 
Who sees by some fair shrine the palm upraise 



58 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

Her tender shaft ; and leaves the shoot to be 
For Phoebus or for Zeus a stately tree. 

II. 

O for the arrows and the bows of eyes ! 
No Syrian and no Parthian and no Mede 

Shoots as Love shoots from those crystalline skies. 
O for the wings of words, the windy speed 
Of sighs that bear him like a flying steed ! 

Now on the threshold of thy soul he stands : 

Wilt thou gainsay his will with praying hands ? 

III. 

With fate and fear and forceful sovereignty 
Love wageth bitter war ; for he is wild, 

Untamable, and proud, and very free ; 

Of fire and air the lightning- winged child ; 
Fierce to his foemen, to his servants mild ; 

Not to be bought with gold or land or fee. 

But found unsought by souls as strong as he. 

IV. 

For wealth Love cares not, nor no tyrant fears ; 

He smiles at sweUings of the perilous seas ; 
Before his face eternal spring appears ; 

He threads the woods and pathless wilds with ease ; 

He shuns not what men shun — fire, death, disease ; 
Nor what men troublous find, can trouble him ; 
No length of days shall make his radiance dim. 



AN EPISODE. 59 



AN EPISODE. 

PILEDO, AN OLD MAN, AT HIS FARM IN ELIS, SPEAKS. 

^ Oh, Phaidon, Phaidon ! ' — Years since then have flown, 
Athenian guest, and I who speak was young. — 
Yet still, / Oh, Phaidon, Phaidon ! ' here within, 
The clear kind voice is ringing. — It was noon j 
But I face-downward in the accursed den 
Lay bowed with grief, while for a veil this hair, 
Then golden and unshorn^ o'er cheeks and* eyes 
Rained in the sunlight of the opening door. — - 

* Oh, Phaidon, Phaidon ! ' — That was all he said : 
But there was something in the tone so pure. 

So tender, yet withal so subtly blent 

With laughter rippling from a deep strong soul. 

As though the man who spoke dared smile at sin. 

That well I knew those words meant help, meant love. 

Deliverance, sunrise, hope and health once more. — 

You know what followed ?. — Yes ? you know he lay 

And stroked these same long curls until he died ? — 

* Oh, Phaidon, Phaidon ! ' — That was all \ but all 
Was in those words, and when I die, methinks 
My soul will hear them from his lips in heaven. 



60 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES, 



TO RHODOCLEIA. 

To thee whose name and fame are of roses, 
Fair Rhodocleia, this wreath from me 

Shall speak of youth when the bloom uncloses, 
And speak of death and the days to be. 

Here is narcissus the rathe rain-lover, 
And here are wavering wind-flowers frail. 

And here are roses that wreathe and cover 
The foreheads of men by love made pale ; 

Violets blue as the veins that wander 

O'er breasts we love when we dream Love true, 
And liHes that laugh to the sunlight yonder 

On meadows drenched with the morning dew. 

But when this crown on thy brow reposes, 
Learn from the blossoms, and be not vain ; 

For time fades thee, as he fades the roses ; 
Nor they nor thou may revive again. 



AT DIOCLES' TOMB AT MEGARA, 

These offerings to thy tomb I bring ; 
These curls upon the flames I fling : 
True tears, and curls, of youth the pride ; 
Justments for one who nobly died. 



AT DIOCLES' TOMB AT ME GAR A, 6 1 

Friend, comrade, slain in fight for me ! 
How can I live to honour thee ? 
What office that the shades allow 
Dare I perform to please thee now? 

Alas ! thine ear is cold, thine eyes 
Are shrouded from the blithesome skies ; 
By Lethe's stream thou liest low 
Mid the tall poppy-stems arow. 

A little dust, a brazen urn, 

A mound bedecked with fringed fern, 

Mid olive avenues so grey 

They seem to blunt the shafts of day ; — 

This then is all that's left of thee. 
Who wast the light of life to me ! 
Thou canst not hear, thou wilt not rise. 
Nor see the tears that dim these eyes. 

I ne'er shall take at eventide 
Sweet counsel, walking by thy side j 
Ne'er clasp thy hand, nor wake and say 
' Friend, art thou there ? ' at break of day. 

Farewell ! Farewell ! That chilly word, 
Blown back upon my lips unheard. 
Is far more sad than thy last cry — 
' Dear heart ! be glad although I die.' 



62 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 



THE SACRIFICE. 



A FRAGMENT. 



Dawn whitened — for it was midsummer dawn — 
O'er dim Pentelicus. The sleep that lay- 
On those two lovers, melted like a mist, 
Leaving their spirits bare beneath the skies 
Of lofty purpose. Nor to flinch or fail 
Was theirs. But, having bathed pure limbs, they stepped 
Into the stirless city-streets ; the arm 
Of brave Cratinus round the sinewy girth 
Of his tall comrade twining. So they moved ; 
And morning grew around them, with a press * 
And pulse of coming glory, ever more 
Flame-pure from base to zenith of clear skies ; 
Till by the cell of Epimenides 
Standing, they saw the golden face upraised 
Of Phoebus ; and the pale priest welcomed them 
With : ' Hail, thrice hail ! beloved of heaven, the sons 
Of Athens, and her saviours, who have dared 
Thus in her sorest need, at price of pain 
And laughter lost in death, to purchase honour ! 
Assume the robe of sacrifice : the crown 
Of innocent flowers, for you by fate foreseen, 
On locks of youth and manhood's crispy curls 
Lay joyfully : for lo, the elders sound, — 



THE SACRIFICE. 6^ 

Hark, in the porches and the paths beneath, — 

Your triumph, and a breathless people throngs 

The marble temple-steps to greet with blessings 

Their heroes ! ' They as in a dream beheld 

The lengthening light, which ne'er for them should flame 

To noon ; the sweet Ionian vowels heard 

Of youths and maids ; the loved warm life within 

Drank, dying. Then the long procession moved 

Around them — earnest eyes, and sobs, and feet 

That faltered on the pavement ; praying men, 

And tearful women ; music and the scent 

Of summer morning ; bees that drowsily 

Flew by with honey-burden of full hives ; 

All dear familiar things transformed and hallowed \ 

The awful shrine, the altar, and the knife ! — 

Thus, as they lay, and death drew near, a sound 

Swelled in their ears of singing, and they slept. 



ART IS LOVE. 

Scene : The Lesche at Delphi. 

Speakers: Polygnotus the Paintei^, and Theron, Tyrant 

of Agidgentmn. 

Ther. Teach me, friend Polygnotus, what is Art. 
Pol. This craft of mine, sire ; that of Pheidias ; 
Or that of Damon or the Theban lyrist. 



64 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

Ther. Nay, but I asked thee not to tell the tale 
Of men and of their labours. Prithee, say 
What power is it that works in thee and them 
Compelling worship. 

Pol. Haply 'tis some god. 

Ther. Ay, Polygnotus : but what god ? We see 
Thought, skill, strength, passion, industry that makes 
Men like to gods in labour, for no end 
Of use or profit spent, but to delight 
The soul with shadows of her highest striving ; 
The fruit whereof is art. What thing then is it 
Which without service of man's need is set 
As the high goal whereto man's spirit striveth? 

Pol. I am, O king, a craftsman, skilled to make. 
Unskilled to speak : yet listen j Art is Love. 

Ther. Love, sayest thou? Love, who from the clash of 
things 
Created order, or that laughing boy 
Who sleeps on cheeks of maidens and of youths 
Drowned in day-dreaming? 

Pol. Yea, 'tis Love I mean : 

But of his lineage I would have you learn 
What poets have kept hidden. They pretend 
Love is a god, young, fair, desirable, 
Fulfilled of sweetness and self-satisfied. 
Treading the smooth paths of luxurious spirits. 
Not thus I know him ; for, methinks, he hungers 
Full oftentimes and thirsts, yearning to clasp 
The softness, tenderness, and grace he hath not. 



ART IS LOVE. 65 

He was begotten, as old prophets tell me, 

At the birth-feast of Beauty by a slave, 

Invention, on a beggar, Poverty ; 

Therefore he serves all fair things, and doth hold 

From his dame nothing, from his father wit 

Whate'er he lacks to win. 

Ther. You speak in riddles : 

Not thus have Hesiod and blind Homer sung him. 

Pol. Nathless 'tis true : and Art, whereby men mould 
Bronze into breathing limbs, or round these lines 
With hues delusive, or join verse to verse. 
Or wed close-married sounds in hymn and chorus. 
Is Love ; poor Love that lacks, strong Love that conquers j 
Love like a tempest bending to his will 
The heart and brain and sinews of the maker, 
Who, having nought, seeks all, and hath by seeking. 
Look now : the artist is not soft or young. 
Supple or sleek as girls and athletes are. 
But blind like Homer, like Hephaistos lame. 
True child of Poverty, he feels how scant 
Is the world round him ; and he fain would fashion 
A fairer world for his free soul to breathe in. 
The strife between what is and what he covets, 
Stings him to yearning ; till his father, Craft, 
Cries — stretch thy hand forth, take thy fill, and furnish 
Thy craving soul with all for which she clamours. 

Ther. Is it so easy then to win the prize 
You artists play for ? I, a king, find Love 
A hard task-master. 



66 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

Pol. Ay, and so is Art. 

Many a painter through the long night watches 
Till frozen day-spring hath lain tired with waiting 
At his dream's doorstep, watering th§ porch 
With tears, suspending rose-wreaths from the lintel. 
Thrice blest if but the form he woos be willing 
To kiss his cold lips in the blush of morning. 
And though that kiss be given, even then. 
Mid that supreme beatitude, there hngers 
An aching want — a sense of something missed — 
Secluded, cloud-involved, and unattained — 
The melody that neither flute nor lyre, 
Through breath of maidens or sharp smitten strings, 
Hath rendered." See how Art is like to Love ! 
For lovers, though they mingle, though close lips 
To lips be wedded, hair with streaming hair 
And limb with straining limb be interwoven, 
Yet are their souls divided ; yet their flesh 
Aches separate and unassuaged, desiring 
What none shall win, that supreme touch whereby 
Of two be made one being. Even so 
In art we clasp the shape imperishable 
Of beauty, clasp and kiss and cling and quiver ; 
While, far withdrawn, the final full fruition, 
The melting of our spirit in the shape 
She woos, still waits : — a want no words can fathom. 
Thus Art is Love. And, prithee, when was lover 
Or artist owner of fat lands and rents ? 
Poor are they both and prodigal ; yet mighty ; 



ART IS LOVE. 6y 

And both must suffer. — I have heard, O king, 
The pear4s your mistress wears upon her sleeve, 
Are but the product of an oyster's pain. 
Between its two great shells the creature lies 
Storing up strength and careless, till a thorn 
Driven by deft fingers probes the hinge that joins 
Well-fitting wall to wall ; the poor fish pines. 
Writhes, pours thin ichor forth, and well nigh drains 
His substance : when at last the wound is healed, 
A pearl lurks glistening in the pierced shell. 
See now your artist : were there no quick pain. 
How should the life-blood of his heart be given 
To make those pearls called poems, pictures, statues? 
Ther. Are lovers oysters then as well as artists? — 
Nay, prithee, brook the jest ! I take your meaning. 



MARTYRDOM. 



Did I not tell you so, and cry : 

*Rash soul, by Kupris, you'll be caught ! 
Ah, luckless soul, why will you fly 

So near the toils that Love had wrought ? ' 

Did I not warn you ? Now the net 
Has tangled you, and in the string 

You vainly strive, for Love hath set 

And bound your pinions, wing to wing ; 



68 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

And placed you on the flames to pine, 
And rubbed with myrrh your panting lip, 

And when you thirsted given you wine 
Of hot and bitter tears to sip. 

Ah, weary soul, fordone with pain ! 
, Now in the fire you burn, and now 

Take respite for a while again, 

Draw better breath and cool your brow ! 

Why weep and wail ? What time you first 
Sheltered wild Love within your breast, 

Did you not know the boy you nursed 
Would prove a false and cruel guest? 

Did you not know ? See, now he pays 
The guerdon of your fostering care 

With fire that on the spirit preys. 

Mixed with cold snow-flakes of despair ! 

You chose your lot. Then cease to weep : 
Endure this torment : tame your will : 

Remember, what you sowed, you reap : 
And, though it burns, 'tis honey still ! 



PANTARKES. 69 

PANTARKES. 

The Temple of Zeus at Olynipia. 

Vhywias, seated before his neaidy finished Stattie : the youth 
Pantarkes beside him. Both are looking at Zeus and 
at the Statue of Victory, a portrait of Pantarkes, 
between the god^s knees. Pheidias speaks. 

Who made that mythus of eternal youth ? — 
Perchance it means but what I give to thee, 
Pantarkes ! Not young Hfe in simple sooth, 

But lifeless life for perpetuity 

Congealed in marble. This at least shall last 

When thou to dust art rendered utterly : 

Thy very self, the truth of what thou wast. 
The thought, the form, the beauty that imbued 
Thy substance with divinity, and cast 

In mortal mould a god's similitude. — 

Strange that thy thought should live, thy type endure, 

When thoii art nought ; that gods have set this feud 

'Twixt perishable flesh and spirit pure ; 

That man in combat with unconquered power 

Can make at least the form he loves secure. 



70 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

When life and what he clings to — the frail flower 
Of limbs that bloom, and eyes that answer, lips 
That render kisses — these are Hades' dower ! 

Cold life in stone is Phoebus in eclipse, 

The ring and rondure of a shrunken sun, 

A darkened disc touched by death's finger-tips. 

Well ! I have wrought what best availed ; have won 
This much of life undying, deathless name, 
For thee, my chosen. Victors, one by one, 

Shall sue thee and shall crown thee ! for their fame 
Flows from thy gift : thou, stationed at the knee 
Of Zeus, enringed with radiant altar flame, 

Shalt stand for symbol of that Victory 

That signs the years of Hellas. W^ell I ween 

An ample orb of awful empery 

Awaits my Thunderer ; and thou between 
His knees Olympian, like a palm that springs 
Skyward through chasms of the cleft ravine, 

Shalt tempt all eyes with lustre ; these thy wings 
Shall winnow souls, when eyes are over-worn 
With gazing at that grandeur of the king's 

Impendent eyebrows, — Lo, his fearful scorn. 
His terrible fixed forehead, stern and strong ! — 
From black-browed night to rosy-dimpled morn 



PANTARKES: /I 

We turn for solace. So to thee we turn 

From Zeus Olympian. Will they dream, I wonder, 

Those men in days unborn, who come to bum 

Beneath thy beauty, when they melt thereunder. 

That I who carved thee, loved thee ; filled thy splendour 

As full with living love as Zeus with thunder ; 

That in thy sculptured form I do but render 
The mute insensible melodies of thee, 
Thy lore of loveliness divinely tender ? 

Nay, God alone is Demiurge. To me 
He gave a little skill, a wavering hand. 
Sometime obedient to the brain. But He 

Himself made thee. What form profoundly planned, 
What abstract of all beauty, what supreme 
Essence of true proportion pure and grand. 

The very substance of a sculptor's dream. 
Dare stand by thee, thy simple self, the youth 
Who mid the olives by Alpheus' stream 

Bared breast and shoulder? No : the naked truth 
Of such as thou art, fools our soaring skill. 
We do our best ; our best remains uncouth. 

Compact of error. On their holy hill 

How laugh the gods to see these apes, these men. 

Vainly Promethean, while their puppets fill 



72 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

The stage of earth with radiance that escapes 
From life hke hghtning, in a myriad modes 
Breathing and moving. Shadows, frozen shapes, 

Phantoms, pale corpses from their cold abodes 
Evoked to stare in marble ; these our craft 
Can bungle. Better were it to write odes, 

Like Pindar hymning thee ; on words to waft 

Thy melodies adown the windy ways 

Of deathless generations ; wing some shaft 

Of song with burning pinions of thy praise. 
And smite the souls of nations ! Hearing him. 
What lover but would crown, for thee, with bays 

The boy beside him ? So thy fame should brim 

An everlasting goblet of new wine 

Outpoured by hearts elate, and ne'er grow dim. 

Well : each man hath his mastery. — This is mine. 
Pindar perchance might envy me ; for love, 
Inordinate of appetite, doth pine 

For all the gifts that gods can give, to prove 
By prodigality how vast the sea 
Unsearchable o'er which his pinions move. 

Behold, Pantarkes ! I have sculptured thee 
Even as I saw thee first that summer-time. 
When thou wert chosen from the boys to be 



PANTARKES. 73 

Monarch of beauty in thine April prime. 
Here in my statue are those hfted arms, 
Tliose bending brows, that slender form sublime ! 

My art hath added nought.. These vulgar charms 

Of gold and ivory obscure and shroud 

The sun that shining from thy forehead warms 

The soul of poets ! — I am old and bowed 
With years, with labours ; thou too, thou shalt fail 
And fade and pass within death's icy cloud : 

Therefore my skill some trifle must avail 

To save a fragment from death's tyrannous jaw. — 

Alas for youth, so fair, so phantom-frail ! 

Alas for that wide unappeasable maw 

That yawns for men, for all things ! Some few years, 

Some little space, I stand above the law. 

And shield thee. Then we perish — Truce to tears : 

The fiery heart of lovers hath great scorn 

Of fate and fortune. Haply mid the spheres. 

Whereof they speak in mysteries, are born 
Men ever fair and ageless. Let that be. — 
Methought in dreams I wrestled yester-morn, 



A greybeard, with a youngster, I with thee : 
I stumbled and was bound, a bruised man, 
Thy captive glorying in captivity. 



74 POEMS ON GREEK THEMES. 

This is a parable which I will plan, 
For men of after-time to muse upon, 
In Parian marble or Pentelican. 

Now let us rise. The sun that erewhile shone, 
GHstening from beaten gold and bearded breast 
Of Zeus, slants sea-ward. Honey-pale and wan 

Are all the polished ivory brows that rest 

Their weight of thought around the Thunderer's throne. 

Fain would I gaze far out into the west 

From some bare mountain-summit. Go, my son j 
Leave me awhile to wander. Ere midnight 
Seek me beside the solitary stone 
That knows the secret of my soul's delight. 



THE LOVE TALE OF ODATIS 



AND 



PRINCE ZARIADRES. 



THE DREAM OF ODATIS. 

Odatis, daughter of the Scythian king, 

Lay in her ivory chamber wondering^ 

What pleasant sight the morrow's sun would bear 

To make the April of her life more fair. 

Then as she thought thereon her lashes fell 

Over her grey eyes, and she slumbered well ; 

Nor dreamed therewith ; but when the moon outworn 

Waned on the pearly limits of the morn. 

Then through her sleep the flocks of dreams hke rain 

Fell on her troubled sense and stirred her brain. 

And first through many a twilight labyrinth 

Of starry wind-flower and wild hyacinth 

Listless she wandered, and the heaven o'erhead 

Was to her soul a prison blank and dead ; 

Nor heard she sound of song, nor was the earth 

For all the brightness of its bloomy birth 

Glad to her eyes ; but all she looked upon 

Seemed as the face of one with sorrow wan. 

Yet even so the vision changed : the wood 

Faded from out her memory, and she stood 



78 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

In purple princely splendour throned on high 
To watch the pomp of armies marching by ; 
And in her breast her heart leaped, for the show 
Filled her with trembling such as lovers know. 
And first came youths upon the flowery way 
Thick strewn with silk and boughs of conquering bay ; 
Garlands they wore of violets, and their eyes 
Sparkled like stars that stud December skies, 
While with puffed cheeks and lips whereon the down 
Of boyhood lingered, through the startled town 
They blew the silver sounds of clarions wreathed 
Into strange circles serpentine, or breathed 
Through flutes melodious heraldings whereby 
Trembling the maiden felt that Love was nigh. 
Nor might she pause to think ; for now the tread 
Of elephants with vine-leaves garlanded 
Went crushing blossoms with huge feet ; their grey 
Lithe trunks were curled to snuff the scents of May, 
And on their castled backs and shoulders vast 
Flamed cressets ; on the live coals negroes cast 
Spices of myrrh and frankincense, and boys 
Like naked Cupids made' a merry noise 
Swinging from flank and dewlap, showering spray 
Of cakes and comfits from gilt quivers gay. 
Next came the priests, entoning as they went 
Praises and prayers — their dusky foreheads bent 
Beneath the weight of mitres stiff with gems ; 
And on their breasts and on the broidered hems 
Of their loose raiment glittered runes that none 



THE DREAM OF ODATIS. 79 

Might read, so far ago in ages gone 

By men whose very memories are flown 

Were those strange legends wrought in tongues unknown. 

Behind tliem followed oxen white as snow, 

Large-limbed, with meek eyes mild and round and slow ; 

Lowing they went, and girls beside them held 

Red i;ose-wreaths on their necks and shoulders belled 

With golden bubbles. After, in long hne, 

Passed princely youths on horses ; red as wine 

Was all their raiment, and the steeds they rode 

Like thunder-clouds in tawny splendour glowed. 

Ah ! then she trembled ! on her soul there fell 

Even in dreams a swift fire terrible ! 

For towering o'er the brows of all that band, 

Throned on a car, guiding great steeds, did stand 

One who with fixed eyes gazed on only her : 

And as he drew anigh, still goodlier 

Than all those youths he shone ; and still more near. 

Her spirit shivered with delicious fear ; 

For on her face his eyes stayed, and his breast. 

Whiter than moonlight, heaved with wild unrest ; 

And all about his brows and glorious eyes 

The golden tresses gleamed like live sunrise ; 

And as at last beneath her seat he came. 

She heard the heralds shout an unknown name — 

Prince Zariadres ! — and he rose, and she 

Dared not or could not shrink, for utterly 

Her soul with love was shattered, and his mouth. 

Panting, half open, dry with eager drowth, 



8o LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARLADRES. 

Disclosed beneath her hps ; and so it seemed 
That even as she struggled and still dreamed, 
That show and all those sights faded, and he 
With strong arms clasping strained her stormfully 
To his broad bosom. — Tlien she woke, and wan 
With joy, still felt his living mouth upon 
Her quivering lips ; and lo ! the dream was gone ! 

Afar across the steppes and rolling sea 

Of grassy waves the sun rose royally, 

Shooting his shafts along and stirring all 

Glad creatures to the new day's festival. 

But on her couch Odatis lingered ; still 

Within her bosom heaved her heart, and shrill 

To her tense ears sounded the faint lark's song : 

Nor knew she well thus lying how the long 

Minutes crept over her, for she was fain 

To hoard the fragments of her dream, and pain 

Troubled her heart for thought that day must be 

Unsunned by that brief night's fehcity. 

Then came her maidens to her, they who grew 

Around her youth as lilies white and blue 

Bloom round the queen rose, and they bade her rise, 

Saying : the sun rides high in the mid skies. 

So she arose ; and on her cheek the flush 
Was as the bloom of roses when they blush 
In summer sunset : sandalled then and clad 
In silks whereof the pearly sheen displayed 



THE DREAM OF OBATIS. 8 1 

Hues like the hearts of opals, blue and red 

Mingling with subtly woven silver thread, 

Forth to the close she fared, where by a rill 

The grass was strewn with wind-stirred daffodil 

And pale narcissus ; apple-trees o'erhead 

Their lichen-hoary twisted branches spread, 

And at their feet flowered violets : there the sod 

Was very soft and smooth, by sandals trod 

Of sauntering maidens, swept by silken trains, 

And kindly nursed by gentle April rains — 

An unshorn meadow sward, whereon at play 

Odatis with her virgins passed the day. 

There tales were told and shrill songs sung whereof 

The one recurring burden still was love : 

Yet was Odatis sad, and none might stir 

With jest or smile the cloud that troubled her, 

Nor would she weave the dance or throw the ball, 

But mute and pensive, in despite of all 

The innocent wiles of maiden wooings, lay 

As though she recked not of the sweet spring day. 

Then when noon wore at length to dewy eve. 

And tired with sport those damsels fain would leave 

Their garden for the house-roof, from her bed 

Of grass and flowers Odatis leaned and said : 

' O, tell me, maidens, what myster-ious thing 
Hath stirred my spirit with strange quivering ! 
I slept ; I dreamed ; and lo ! the morrow seems 
A sad sweet echo of melodious dreams. 



82 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

Still in mine eyes a face burns, and a cry 
Of words I know not throbs and passes by. 
I start, I blush, I tremble, I desire — 
New joys untasted with a secret fire 
Consume me, so that all that heretofore 
I loved flits phantomlike on a far shore. 
And what I love not, know not, cannot tell, 
Allures and frets me with a steady spell. 
I am undone with sweetness — fain would fly 
Far off into yon spheres of saffron sky 
And perish — ah ! not perish — not alone — 
I know not what I say, what breath upon 
My lips e'en now hath fallen, what soft thrill 
Bids me abide and yearn and languish still — 
For nothing ? or for what ? — dear maidens, say 
Why seems it to me that a single day 
Hath set between that shore of life and this 
Waves ruder than the rush of Tanais? ' 

' Thou hast felt Love in Sleep : he still is fain 
To whisper music to a slumbering brain.' 
' Love ! what is Love ? To be fantastical 
For forms and phantoms — on my knees to fall 
And pray kind sleep to take my soul and give 
One long delicious dream, that I may live 
Mid unsubstantial shadows — to turn pale. 
To flush, to throb, to faint, to sigh, to quail. 
To glow in ice, to freeze in fire, to hate 
The light of day and all things delicate . 



THE DREAM OF ODATIS. 83 

That are not dreams — oh ! is this Love ? I thought 
That Love was something sure and steady wrought 
Into the very heaven of hfe, and set 
Mid stars the soul shall nevermore forget ! 
Is he a thing of visions ? ' 

* Nay,' cried she, 
The girl whom maidens called Earine, 
* I know not Love ; I dream not ; yet I know 
By words that fall upon the ear like snow 
On sleepy house-roofs, by faint flower-scent. 
By songs of birds with lustrous twihght blent. 
By heavy-headed roses, and wide eyes 
Of young men gazing in a still surprise, 
By tremblings when a hand upon my hand 
Lingers and mute hps quiver and feet stand 
Fixed in unwilling wilfulness to stay 
As though they fain would stir not night or day, — 
Surely by signs and tokens like to these 
I know Love is some subtle sweet disease. 
Some fire that frets and soothes, some frost that chills 
And stings the spirit with delicious thrills. 
And thou too lovest ; doubt not, thou hast seen. 
If thou the simple truth wouldst tell, fair queen, 
In sleep some god who wooed thee ! Wait and be 
Cradled in honey-sweet expectancy : 
For surely like a mist of golden rain 
Or dew descending, he will come again ; 
And by thy side perchance, no more a shade. 
The very hfe of Cupid shall be laid. 



84 LOVE TALE OF ODATLS AND ZARIADRES. 

As erst by Psyche's ere she dared to see 
What Love would hide from dull mortahty.' 

' So be it ! ' sighed Odatis. Then she went, 
For now the skirts of night were starry sprent, 
Forth to her chamber, and but little slept, 
For still her heart sweet bitter converse kept. 



THE DREAM OF ZARIADRES. 

The selfsame night Odatis dreamed her dream, 

Prince Zariadres by the silver stream 

Choaspes slept : far down the stainless tide 

Mid flowering reeds and fragrant rushes sighed j 

And o'er the open window its broad roof 

An immemorial cedar spread moon-proof, 

Where nestled nightingales and where the shine 

Like hve fire went of clematis and vine. 

Asleep he lay — the seed, so story ran. 

Of Aphrodite and no mortal man 

But mystic Thammuz ; yea, his cheek and chin. 

Whereon the golden down of youth was thin. 

And his fierce eyes and amorous spake him sprung 

Of gods immortal since the world was young. 

Asleep he lay : the cedar planks whereof 

The walls were wrought, were carved with tales of love ; 

And on the marble floor thick quilted fur 

Slumbered, brown sable and rare minever. 



THE DREAM OF ZARIADRES. 85 

Thereon huge hounds of chase lay curled, and bright 

Beside his pillow in the dim starlight 

Shone hunting spear and broad blade and such gear 

As woodmen don to drive the flying deer. 

But Zariadres sleeping dreamed not yet 

Of horn or hound or thicket boar-beset ; 

Nay, nothing dreamed ; until what time the light 

Of dawn upon the ocean edge was white. 

Dame Venus, so his dream ran, filled the house 

With pleasant sounds and flower-scents amorous. 

Then as he lay and listened, lo ! the beat 

Of rhythmically moving maiden feet 

Fell on his ear, and laughter grew, and wide 

His chamber door flew open, and the tide 

Of lute and viol wavelike filled the room 

With music married to the wild perfume 

Of virgin voices ; and while still the sea 

Of gathering gaining golden melody 

O'erflowed his senses, by the bed there stood 

Dame Venus — as erewhile in mocking mood 

From wavelets Cytherean and white foam 

Naked she rose beneath heaven's azure dome, 

So by his bedside smiling with strange wiles 

Hid in the subtle dimphngs of her smiles, 

Stayed she ; and roses like a ruddy mist, 

With violets deep and dim as amethyst. 

Rained round her : then from forth the flowers there 

shone — 
As from pink clouds the sunk sun smiles upon, 



86 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

Love's white star shines — a trembling maiden, clad 

In splendour of such light the lilies had 

In Eden ; and the youth who looked at her, 

Felt the still fountains of his spirit stir 

With some new bliss untasted. Venus cried : 

* Behold, O Zariadres ! 'tis thy bride, 
Odatis, daughter of a race of kings, 

Thy mother to thy breast in slumber brings ! 
Arise, and clasp her ! ' 

Then he rose and flung 
His arms around the shade and clasped and clung. 
Ah me ! the treachery of dreams ! Sleep flies, 
And straining wide expectant eager eyes. 
Whose hps are these with thirsty lips he kisses. 
As though he would uproot their blooming blisses? 
Poor Zaffir, foster-brother, page, with whom 
He beats the thicket side from dawn till gloom, 
Stands in his locked arms, wondering, laughing, cool, 
With crisp curls dripping from the crystal pool. 
Where he has bathed and whence he now has run 
To rouse his master with the rising sun. 

* Who is Odatis, Zaffir ? Tell me who ? 
'Twas now I clasped her to my heart, and you 
Came straight between me and my bliss. Oh, say 
Where dwells my darling ? On what dreamy way 
Escaped she through the palace halls, and why 
Delayed you not her feet that faster fly 

Than woodland fawns or clouds that scud the sky?' 



THE DREAM OP ZARIADRES, 8/ 

' O Zariadres ! O my prince ! The night 

Hath fooled you with vain visions of delight. 

For nought in all your chamber stirred or sped, 

While through the door I came, and by your bed 

Stood waiting till you woke, and watched the rays 

Ruddy upon the cedar boughs and bays 

Beneath your window ; and your eager hound 

Snuffed the keen air as though he fain would bound. 

About the upland meadows where we go 

Ere noon be full to chase the flying roe. 

Then as I stayed, you smiled in sleep and threw 

Fond arms about my neck, and drank the dew 

Of my poor lips — not as our custom is 

To greet the morrow with a brother's kiss, — 

But as though hfe and all that life holds dear 

Or fancy feigns were brimmed and chaliced here.' 



' Who is Odatis, Zaffir? In my sleep 

Dame Venus spake words soft as winds that sweep 

Dim primrose paths in April ; for she said : 

I bring Odatis to thy marriage bed. 

Daughter of kings ; embrace her ! — and I laid 

My lips upon the fairest lips that maid 

E'er lent her lover.' 

' Nay, Prince, nought I know. 
But rise and don thy raiment : we will go 
Down to the court, if haply we may hear 
Where dwells Odatis from some traveller.' 



88 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

Then Zariadres from the coverlid, 

That lapped his rosy lustre, sprang, and hid 

Those limbs divine in royal weed, and went 

With Zaffir to the court- yard. There a tent 

Whereof the warp was gold wire, and the woof 

A maze of broidered blossoms, made a roof 

From morning sunbeams for the prince, and loud 

Around him rang the voices of the crowd. 

For there upon mosaic paved work stood 

Robed in strange wise a restless multitude ; 

Merchants from furthest Oxus and from Ind, 

Swart faces linen-swathed, o'er whom the wind 

Swept musky fragrant ; Arab chiefs with spear 

Trembling in sinewy hand, and hunting gear 

Slung round broad shoulders ; brawny ^thiop slaves, 

With Moors who dive into the deep sea caves 

To rob the coral-wreathed Nereides ; 

Syrians for whom soft gum- distilling trees 

Yield precious spice ; with them a fair-haired band 

Of hunters from the free Circassian land, 

Bearing good store of furs ; and some had gold 

Which with scant cunning from the envious hold 

Of Arimaspian griffins they were fain 

To wrest, emperilling dear life for gain. 

All these and many more whose name and race 

Are clean forgotten filled the open place : 

For at this time the custom was each spring 

To hold a market for the Persian king j 

That all the rich and rare things that the sun 

In his long daily journey looks upon, 



THE DREAM OF ZARIADRES. 89 

Might so to please the monarch's gaze be brought ; 
And whatsoe'er seemed good to him was bought 
To deck his palace halls, and gcTld and gem 
The treasurer duly weighed and gave to them 
Who paid their lord free service. So this day, 
When Zariadres took his station, they 
Buzzed round him thinking that the royal eyes 
Should now be bent to scan their merchandise. 
But the Prince called his herald and bade sound 
Silence through courts and hall and garden ground ; 
And there was silence while the silver call 
Of trumpets thrilled the square from wall to wall. 
Then Zariadres spake : 

' O ye who stand 
Around me, if my name from each far land 
Hath power to lure you, tell me truth and say 
Where dwells Odatis ? ' 

Then he ceased, and they 
Kept silence ; but the heralds lifting loud 
Their brazen tongues above the listening crowd, 
Cried in each several speech of men the same 
Challenge : twelve times rang forth the unknown 

name : 
^ Where dwells Odatis ? ' When they ceased, a man 
Sprang from the fair-faced crew Circassian, 
And cried : 

' I know Odatis ! I have seen 
The fairest of all maids that bloom between 
Ister and Indus, daughter of the king 
To whom the Marathi their tribute bring ! ' 



QO LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

Straight was he taken to the ivory chair 
Where sat the Prince ; and an interpreter, 
Circassian born, received his speech, and said : 

* This man, O Prince, in vales Caucasian bred, 
Fareth from farthest Scythia where the tide 
Of wintry Tanais flows down dark and wide 
To greet the inhospitable sea ; for there 

The warlike Marathi yield ware for ware, 
Taking soft silks and stuffs from Persian looms 
With arabesques embroidered and the blooms 
Of summer flowers, but giving furs of price, 
And amber sought beneath the hummocked ice 
Of frozen north-waves, and pure lumps of gold 
From griflin-guarded Ural chasms cold. 
There mid the Marathi Odatis dwells. 
Fairest of maidens, as mid asphodels 
The tall queen lily shineth, or the moon 
Mid stars upon a silver night of June : 
Daughter and heiress of their king is she, 
And now the years of her virginity 
Shall soon be ended, for the suitors fill 
Her father's halls, free horsemen, swift to spill 
Life blood of him who thwarts their fiery will.' 

Glad was Prince Zariadres and he cried : 

* Nay, but no man shall win her for a bride, 
Since mine she is ! Call my ambassadors. 



THE DREAM OF ZARIADRES. 9 1 

And bid them lade a hundred mules with stores 

Of silks and sandalwood and spice and gems : — 

Nay, tear the diamonds from my diadems, 

That men may marvel when they see the train 

Wind over windy steppe and wavy plain 

Unto the station of the Scythian king ! 

There let them leave those goodly things, but bring 

Odatis to my chamber : she shall be 

Princess of Persia on the throne with me. 

And thou, Circassian, take thee gold enow 

To live the wealthiest of thy tribe, and go 

Forth with my nobles : as thou lov'st thy life 

See that thou bring them without let or strife 

The straif^htest road to Tanais ford, and there 

Set them before the king's face ! I will wear 

The slow weeks here in Susa till ye come 

Bearing my Princess to her Persian home. 

Nay, Zaffir, go thou too : though loth to part 

With thee who still art second to my heart, 

Yet swear I none but thou shall plead for me : 

Oh, tell her how I clasped thee tenderly 

For her sweet sake in dreams, and how I pine 

Till the glad days of autumn make her mine.' 



OF THE EMBASSY AND HOW IT FARED, 

Now there was none in Persia to gainsay 
Prince Zariadres : so at break of day 



92 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARLADRES. 

Forth from the palace gates in glittering line 

Went mules and camels, with the steely shine 

Of spear-points quivering round them ; and on high 

Neath tents and palanquins that flout the sky, 

The pomp of the ambassadors, enfurled 

In dusty wreaths the stormful south-wind whirled, 

Sat solemn-eyed ; and Zaflir with them spent 

The long slow hours in dreamy wonderment : 

For they by field and forest, plain and sea, 

Fared northward day by day unrestingly. 

O'er many a desert tract of sand whereon 

Glared with unlidded eyes the withering sun, 

Mid cities old as time submerged beneath 

Their mounded dust in ever-during death. 

Through cedar forests dark and ominous 

Down the dim sides of shadowy Caucasus 

Outstretched in black battalions, on and on. 

Northward and westward, fared they till the Don, 

Swift, broad and swirling, met their eager eyes 

One eventide of August 'neath sad skies. 

Arched with fire fretwork of fierce clouds that spanned 

A brown plain Hmitless on either hand. 

Then with the morrow's hght they crossed the ford, 

And came unto the castle of the lord 

Who kept those marches for the Scythian king ; 

Him with fair speech they prayed that he should bring 

Their concourse to Omartes — this the name 

Of fair Odatis' father. So they came 



OF THE EMBASSY AND HOW IT FARED. 93 

Ere sunset to the station of the race 

Of warhke Marathi — a goodly place, 

Nor walled, but open to the rolling sea 

Of pasture where the milch mares love to be : 

For all the wealth of Scythia was in kine 

And swift steeds ; nor to plough the yeasty brine 

Witii keels in search of treasure, nor to till 

The fat glebe recked they ; but they roamed at will 

Over vast billowy tracts of green grass land 

Wild as the winds that sweep a stormy strand. 

Nathless Omartes, being chief and king 

Of this free folk, would rest from wandering 

Sometime in his fair palace ; and the maid, 

Odatis, went not with the tribe, but stayed 

Fenced from all harm in her delicious home. 

There month by month like tempest-fretted foam 
In squadrons and in armies surged the tide 
Of turbulent Scythia, with rude pomp and pride 
Wooing the rose -cheeked daughter of the chief: 
For so 'twas ruled that with the falling leaf 
She should be wedded to the lord whose hand 
Proved mightiest in the wide Marathian land. 
Wherefore with spear and steed caparisoned 
As for stern combat, and with Cossacks zoned. 
Rode princes hawk-eyed 'neath tempestuous brows ; 
And tilts there were and tourneys fit to rouse 
Sparks of hot manhood in young hearts, and prove 
Who ranged the doughtiest in the lists of love. 



94 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND Z ART AD RES. 

Yea but the whole land seethed with stormful strife, 
And of the suitors each man held his life 
Even in his hand as a vile thing and nought, 
Till that Odatis to his tent were brought 
After free sentence and the folk's acclaim, 
With him to reign queen of the Scythian name. 

Thus toward the palace court the Persian train 
Grave-eyed and wondering o'er the pathless plain 
Wound slowly ; and a thousand eyes afar 
Spying their serried phalanx chafed for war : 
Then scouts and scudding turms, like wind-writhed sand, 
Wheeled round their escort ; and each sinewy hand 
Grasped a steel-pointed spear, or whirled a sword. 
Or set swift arrows to the glistening cord. 

* Peace ! ' cried the herald : ' foemen none are these. 
But bearers of great gifts and embassies 

Unto the Scythian from the Persian king ! 

Hence to the palace courts, or stay and bring 

With martial service and high pomp their state 

Unto Omartes at the porphyry gate.' 

Then was their heat abated ; and some went 

Back to the town in cloudy discontent ; 

But some around the strangers hovering, viewed 

With curious eyes the goodly multitude ; 

While others to Omartes came and cried; 

* Hither, O King, from sun- struck Persia ride 
Grave men with mules well laden, and they say 
Their bounden service is to thee this day ! ' 



OF THE EMBASSY AND HOW IT FARED. 95 

So at the close of that short day they came 
To proud Omartes ; and the steady flame 
Of sunset flared on weary brows and eyes 
Worn with long travelling under ardent skies. 
Large was the court-yard : men and maidens leant 
From latticed windows in quick wonderment 
To gaze upon those grave ambassadors ; 
They grouped around the porphyry palace doors, 
Watched the unlading of their mules, and chose 
Rare gifts and jewelled caskets to unclose 
Before the glad eyes of the Scythian king, — 
Whispering the while of many a beauteous thing 
In speech the Scythians knew not : yet one name 
Was frequent on their lips, burning like flame 
The ears of pale Odatis ; for she heard 
* Prince Zariadres : ' and this single word 
Leaped in her blood and tingled in her brain, 
Stirring her spirit with delicious pain. 
Ncrr knew she well whereof they spake, or why 
With gifts so great the grave-eyed embassy 
Unto her father's palace halls were come ; 
For to all questioning the men were dumb. 
Nor to the audience chamber, now that night 
Had fallen on field and forest, seemed it right 
That those waywearied travellers should fare ; 
Therefore Omartes bade his grooms prepare 
Meet chambers for the men, and for their train 
Of mules and camels pickets on the plain. 
So rested they the night ; but in her bower 



96 LOVE TALE OF ODATLS AND ZARLADRES. 

Odatis watched each slowly sliding hour, 
Wide-eyed and wondering who and what was he 
Whose unknown name controlled her destiny. 

With morning on his ivory throne of state 

Omartes took his station at the gate 

Of porphyry named, and bade his trumpeter 

Call the ambassadors that he might hear 

What was their errand from the Persian king. 

Through court and hall the silver throats 'gan sing 

Their tyrannous summons, and the arches rang 

With trampling feet and voices and the clang 

Of clashed shields. Then the heralds brought the folk 

Of Susa to the throne, and Zaffir spoke : 

' Hear, King Omartes ! what our Prince decrees — 

Prince Zariadres, whom the southern seas 

Toward Araby and Ind, the western bound 

By rocky Hellas and the garden ground 

Of sunburned Syria, the northern grey 

Neath far-stretched shadowy Caucasus, obey : 

As equal unto equal he doth sue 

That thou in lawful wedlock wouldst bestow 

Thy daughter, fair Odatis, on his prime 

Of princely manhood ; that with him sublime 

Upon the throne of Susa she may sway 

All nations that the stars of heaven survey. 

Nothing he asks, but much therewith he yields — 

Rare silks of width to carpet yon green fields 

From sunrise unto sundown, glorious gems 



OF THE EMBASSY AND HOW IT FARED. 97 

Torn from imperial Indian diadems ! 

Keep thou thy kingdom : nought he recks thereof; 

For lie will win and wed a bride for love : 

But send thou nobles with thy child to see 

How she is throned in Persia royally ; 

Or come thyself with us, and be the guest 

Of him who in his palm holds East and West.' 

Here Zaffir ceased and spread upon the ground 
Coffers and caskets ; but the monarch frowned ; 
And, ere he spake, fierce murmurs ran around : 

' Nay, boy, take hence thy bribes ! none such need we. 

Yet to thy master say that royally 

He woos Odatis ; and for this we give 

Thanks — yea, in peace with him we pray to live ; 

But for our daughter — chieftains, what say ye ? — 

She shall be wedded ere the wild wolds see 

December's snowflake, to that Scythian lord 

Whose arm is strong to win her with the sword. 

For lo ! with her the royal seed decays 

In Scythia ; and 'tis ruled that she shall raise 

New generations of fierce kings to sway 

The Marathi, when we have passed away.' 

Scarce had he ceased when cheering clamorous, 
Like cries of grappling legions, filled the house ; 
But with his hand Omartes bade the folk 
A while keep silence ; then again he spoke : 



98 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARLADRES. 

* Friends are ye, strangers ! yea, and guests, I trow ; 

Nor from our Scythian station shall ye go 

Home to fair Susa till ye learn what skill 

In wrestling and in riding we who dwell 

On these broad uplands use with friend and foe. 

And forasmuch as all men here shall know 

Your lord is our good cousin, I will take 

Yon golden beaker bossed with gems to slake 

My thirst in winter when the halls are dim. 

Drinking deep wassails and high healths to him.' 

So said the king ; then bade his serving folk 

Four black steeds to a Scythian chariot yoke : 

Of ivory were the knobs ; of brass the ring, 

With runes enriched and rude enamelling. 

Whereby the horses to the pole were bound ; 

Of steel the wheel-rims where they grazed the ground ; 

All else of birchen bark, and osier tough. 

And seasoned ash wood, with the rind still rough 

Upon the bending branches, so was twined 

That the frail fabric seemed a thing the wind 

Might play with — stout withal and firm enow 

To bear three warriors through the mounded snow. 

This for a peace gift to the Persian king 

Was given to Zaffir. He much marvelling 

To find his words fall like an idle tale 

On the proud ears of Scythia, passion-pale, 

Yet daring nought that might the wrath arouse 

Of those tumultuous chiefs whose iron brows 

Hung black with threats, resumed his speech, and said 



OF THE EMBASSY AND HOW IT FARED. 99 

' We thank thee, King ! Though poorly we have sped, 

Yea, though our journey to my Prince will be 

But heavy-hearted, yet thy courtesy 

Is as a fair well in a thirsty plain. 

As thou hast spoken, so will we remain 

Thy guests and servants till such time as men 

And beasts are rested from their labour ; then 

To Susa backward must we wend, and say 

How ill we fared before thy face this day.' 

' So be it ! ' cries Omartes ; and the courts 

Rang round him : then he bade that goodly sports 

To greet the strangers after Scythian wise 

Should fill the day and feast their wondering eyes. 



OF ZAFFIRS CONVERSE WITH ODATIS. 

Meanwhile Odatis in her chamber heard 

None of these things, albeit the shouts that stirred 

The court-yard silence thrilled her ears, and dull 

The grudging minutes with slow feet of wool 

Passed o'er her throbbing pulses. Then there came 

Earine — her fair face all aflame — 

With quick step to the bower, and cried : 

' O queen ! 
The goodliest youth these eyes have ever seen 
Woos thee for Zariadres ! Gems and gold, 
The price of empires, on the pavement rolled 
Like stones to tempt Omartes : and he said — 



100 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

Zaffir his name was — that his lord would wed 
None but Odatis, and that thou shouldst be 
Throned o'er the Persian folk imperially ! ' 

' What said my sire ? ' 

* Ah, marry, more the grief ! 
He vowed to wed thee to some Scythian chief : 
Whereat thy suitors shouted, but the youth 
Who spake for Zariadres, in good sooth. 
Albeit his speech fell soft as summer rain, 
Flashed such defiance from fierce eyes that bane 

Must follow : then Omartes ' 

^ Prithee, stay 
The torrent of thy tongue ; this only say, 
Came Zariadres with the troop, or where 
Abides he ? ' 

'■ Nay, the Persian envoys fare 
Home to their Prince ere August is o'erpast.' 

' Go then. Earing, to Zaffir ; cast 
Enchantment on the man ; and ere day dies 
Bring him to meet me far from envious eyes 
In the pleached alleys of the orchard : there 
Alone will I receive him. And beware 
Lest thy tongue, truant to thy faith, betray 
Love-lost Odatis ! — I meanwhile will pray.' 

Earing made answer : 

* O my queen, 



OF ZAFFIR'S CONVERSE WITH ODATIS. lOI 

Surely another vision thou hast seen : 

Yet will I bring the youth ' — she blushed, and hung 

Her forehead as a rose by south- winds swung — 

' For he is gentle, and my spirit tells 

He will abide my bidding without spells.' 

It was the hour of evening when Love's star 
Trembling upon the melancholy bar 
Of sunset, melts young hearts, and Love is nigh 
In all the saifron spaces of the sky. 
Swift flew the stream ; the drooping apple boughs 
Glassed in its arrowy argent, framed dim brows, 
Mist-wreathed with maiden tresses, of the queen, 
Who stayed, a glimmering phantom, on the green : 
Beneath her skirts the grass was dewy wet — 
Not now with daffodil and violet. 
But with pale lilac crocus flowers o'erbloomed, 
Sad stars of autumn ; and the air, perfumed 
No more with April blossoms, held the scent 
Of fruits autumnal ; heavy branches bent 
Their golden freightage of ripe spheres to greet 
Even the kisses of her dainty feet. 

Thither came Zaflir, whom Earine 

Drew through the twilight very silently. 

Like moving mist they came the boughs between ; 

For both were clad in robes of filmy green. 

Mocking the mossed trunks with like coloured hues 

The fleet-foot fairies in their revels use. 



102 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARLADRES, 

Nor of their coming was Odatis ware ; 

Till by her side Earing stood fair 

As summer twilight, pointing to the boy, 

Whose lustrous eyes trembhng with some strange joy, 

Shone hke twin stars descended from the sky 

Obedient to a wizard's witchery. 

Odatis blushed and started ; then she laid 

Her finger on her lip, and whispering bade 

Earing to keep close watch and ward, 

While she to Zaffir low-voiced : 

' Is thy lord 

Prince Zariadres ? ' 

Here her woman's tongue 
Faltered, and on her breast her fair head hung. 
Till Zaffir's voice, like pleasing melody, 
Startled the starry silence : 

'■ I am he 
Whom Zariadres sends to sue for thee ! 
Yet nought herein we prosper, for the king 
Frowns on our suit and scorns the gifts we bring, 
Ah, lady ! couldst thou see my Prince, or hear 
His accents softer than the winds that stir 
Rose-bowers of Shiraz ! couldst thou feel the flame 
That flashed from his fierce brows when first thy name 
Fell on his dreaming senses, and he cried. 
Flinging himself from slumber — Who doth hide 
Odatis from me, Zaffir? I have seen 
Even in sleep the phantom of my queen ! 
Who is Odatis, Zaffir? Tell me how 



\ 

OF ZAFFIR'S CONVERSE WITH ODATIS. 103 

She from the chamber ghded ? Even now 

Within these arms I held her ! hie thee hence, 

Swift as love-thoughts ; with gentle vehemence 

Persuade her to be piteous, for I die 

Without the light of her felicity ! — 

Nay, marvel not, my Princess ! deign to hear 

Things true though strange : for when the dawn was clear 

On that faint April morning, to his bed 

Venus, celestial mother, so 'tis said. 

Of Zariadres, brought thee fairer far 

Than is the trembling of yon silvern star, 

Either in dreams, or, as a goddess can. 

Thy very self dissevered from the ban 

Of frail mortality, and smiled, and cried — 

Take her, my son, yea, take thy royal bride, 

Odatis, daughter of a thousand kings ! 

Whereat the Prince, sleep-startled, stirs and flings 

Wild arms around a phantom, straining eyes 

In weary widowhood on the blank skies : 

Yet in his ear thy name thrills, and he knows 

That truth abides in visions, ere the close 

Of sleep fast following on the skirts of morn : 

Therefore by faith and honour he hath sworn 

To wed thee only, or for thee to waste 

Reft of the bliss that none but lovers taste.' 

' In dreams, O Zafifir ? when the night forlorn 
Faints in the fierce embraces of the morn? 
In April, saidst thou? — Deem me not o'erbold 



I04 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES, 

To quit my coy retirement and the cold 

Cloisters of shy concealment ! — nay, I shrink 

And tremble virginlike upon the brink 

Of perilous parley ! — Yet even so to me 

Athwart the mists of slumber royally 

Rode one I knew not ; on his face was flame 

To stir my spirit, and his whispered name 

So bowed and bound me that I rose and sware, 

Weeping within these orchard alleys fair, 

That henceforth I would wed no living wight ; 

Since only Zariadres and the might 

Of his great goodliness could charm my sight.' 

She ceased, and like to one with toil forspent 
Sank on the flowery meadow : dew-besprent 
Were those calm cups, matching her cheeks whereon 
Mid blushes like faint pearls her shy tears shone. 
But Zaflir smiled and triumphed : ' Surely here 
Is love, god-guided, strong to cast out fear ! 
Not without fate, nay by the will, sweet queen, 
Of powers celestial were these visions seen. 
Therefore arise, and give good counsel ; say 
How shall we bear thee to thy lord away? 
For lo ! in Susa trembling, aching, still 
He sees the Orient skies each morrow fill 
With light he loves not, wearing weary life 
In fruitless sighing and unceasing strife, 
Till thou arise upon his heavens, and be 
The sunlight of his soul's felicity ! ' 



OF ZAFFIR'S CONVERSE WITH ODATIS. I05 

Long lay Odatis speechless : then she rose, 
And pacing slowly through the orchard close, 
Spake many words with Zaffir, while she wove 
A mesh of cunning schemes to cradle love. 



' Haste to thy lord and mine ! for ere the spring 

Clothe field and forest with enamelling 

Of frail May flowers, he from my father's hall 

Shall bear his Scythian bride, a willing thrall. 

Meanwhile, if in this hearf and brain be skill 

To work Omartes to his daughter's will — 

As well I reckon he will nought refuse 

To wiles and woven charms that women use — 

I will provide that on the rolling plain 

The snows shall melt and grass be green again, 

Ere in these palace halls I yield my hand 

To suitor of the wild Marathian land. 

But on the verge of April we will call 

A day for sacrifice and festival. 

When I will swear in Jove's high fane to choose 

My husband with such rites the Scythians use, 

Giving the golden cup and by the sun 

Plighting a troth that shall not be undone ! 

This part be mine ! Let Zariadres come 

And claim Odatis in her Scythian home ! ' 

So spake the Princess : and much more she said 
Of wiles whereby the Persians might be led 



I06 LOVE TALE OF ODATLS AND ZARLADRES. 

Through the Marathian outposts in the dress 
Of warriors from tlie western wilderness. 
Then for that now black night had fallen, and fair 
Above the palace through translucent air 
Streamed lights auroral — a celestial sea 
Of blood that ebbed and flowed unceasingly — 
Sighing Odatis turned, and like a wraith 
Scarce seen in sleep by one that sorroweth, 
Beneath those wonders of the skies she went, 
Wild hope within her heart with sorrow blent. 



HOW ZARIADRES WON ODATIS. 

Fierce winter fell ; and on the Scythian plain 

By sleety whirlwind and frore hurricane 

A world of white was huddled : ridged and grey 

Neath scowling skies the mounded snowdrifts lay ; 

And like a vault of steel, thick-ribbed and cold, 

Hung the rough ice beneath whose arches rolled 

Wild Tanais with waves that chafed in vain, 

Grinding their granite bed in voiceless pain. 

Within her ivory hall as weeks stole by, 

Odatis mid her maidens dreamily 

Wiled the long days with talk and song and jest, 

Stirring the spirit of a soft unrest 

In all her aching veins ; for they would tell 

Of love and many a midnight miracle 

Wrought mid far races in forgotten times 



HOW ZARIADRES WON ODATIS. lO/ 

For lovers : much she heard of southern dimes 

From Greekish damsels and from dark-eyed maids, 

Syrian or Persian ; how the amaranth glades 

In Shiraz and in Susa all the year, 

Embowered in bays and laurels never sere, 

With rose-bloom flourish, and the sun doth smile 

Eternal summer on flower-circled isle, 

Samos, or Rhodes, or Lesbos, or the shine 

Of Paros white mid wavelets sapphirine. 

Then when night came, and north-winds on the wold 

Wailed like were-wolves, she in the silken fold 

Of slumber lapped from sadness smiling dreamed ; 

Till in her dream Prince Zariadres seemed 

With her in Junes eternal and the bliss 

Of summery cedar-shaded lovehness 

To drink dear love and life ; and she would cry 

Even in sleep — ' The silent minutes fly ; 

The days and weeks like drifting snowflakes hover 

Bearing on wings of hurrying time my lover ! 

Lo, even now perchance where pine trees frown 

Beneath the ice-bound awful airy crown 

Of Caucasus, by Caspian waves that eat 

For very rage their barren beach, his feet 

Fret the rough way, and Love doth lead him on ! 

And now his chariot spurns the frozen Don ! 

And now he clasps me ! ' — Startled then from sleep 

She watched the melancholy winter heap 

Snows upon snows ; and joy seemed far, and bare 

Were earth and heaven within the loveless air. 



I08 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

So slumber with frail hope and flying bliss 

Fed her young soul ; but waking wretchedness 

Consumed her, and life daily grew to be 

A trance of dreadful drear expectancy. 

Nor came there any sign ; nor might she hear 

From wandering merchant or lone traveller 

Aught from the wished-for south-lands ; for the hand 

Of winter lay Hke iron on all the land, 

And silence round her brooded, and the spring 

Was as an unimaginable thing. 

Then came the day when in Omartes' hall 

The Scythian suitors called to festival, 

Should at the king's throne swear fresh fealty ; 

That so the maid Odatis might be free 

To choose her bridegroom, and by love's award 

O'er the proud Marathi to make him lord. 

From all the realm the royal kith and kin, 

Rulers and princes, kings and mighty men. 

Met in the palace : wassail all day long 

With pompous sacrifice and solemn song 

Filled a full month : yet never through the throng 

Shone the keen eyes of Zaffir, or the grace 

Of Zariadres on the eager face 

Of desolate Odatis ; but she sighed : 

' He hath forgotten ! Surely by the tide 

Of smooth Choaspes with another maid 

He sees the laughing lips of summer laid 

On thorp and meadow, while for me remain 



HOW ZARIADRES WON ODATIS. IO9 

Nought but these windy steppes and barren plain, 
Where I shall perish ! ' 

Thin and pale and wan, 
Yet like a hly fair to look upon, 
She went her ways on duteous service bent. 
Veiling her sorrow in a sad content. 

Till now the tables in the hall were set, 
And on the king's enamelled carcanet 
'Neath blazing torches shone barbaric gems ; 
While round the board a hundred diadems 
Crowned savage brows and fiery eyes and hair 
Of fierce chiefs flaunting on broad shoulders bare. 
Through rOof and fretted rafter shrilled the loud 
Singing and harping of a minstrel crowd, 
Praising the great deeds of the mighty hand 
Of him who swayed the wild Marathian land. 
Then as they sat and drank and wine began 
With madness to inflame each fiery man, 
Omartes called his daughter, and her name 
Ran round the echoing walls like living flame ; 
For as amid her maidens rosy red, 
Robed in grey samite, bending her fair head. 
Up the long hall she paced, one cry arose 
Of ' Hail Odatis ! ' and tlie brazen blows 
Of armed heels on the paved work smitten, sent 
Clamour across the wilderness that blent 
With the fierce tumult of the winds at war. 
Then spake Omartes : 



no LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARIADRES. 

' Lo, from near and far 
Thy suitors, daughter ! Long have I delayed, 
Fooled by the trifling of a timid maid. 
Take now thy choice : stout men are these and good 
To be the fathers of a kingly brood : 
Fear not that I shall balk thee ; look around ; 
Be fancy-free : his forehead shall be crowned, 
To whom thou yieldest on this night of Jove 
The golden goblet as thy pledge Of love.' 

Odatis took the beaker : then she stood 

Amid those eager eyes in yearning mood. 

As one who fain would loiter on the way 

To lifelong prison in mid month of May. 

With parted lips and eyes that seemed to see 

Beyond the bourn of frail mortality. 

At gaze she stood, nor shrank, but searched the room, 

If haply somewhere between glare and gloom 

Her lover lingered : but no shape supreme. 

Like to the splendour of her April dream. 

Flashed on those aching eyeballs : then she bent 

Her forehead in forlorn discouragement ; 

And beckoning Earin6, along 

The blazing banquet mid the shouting throng 

Passed to the altar of great Jove, and there 

Knelt in profound astonishment of prayer. 

Straining wild eyes and eager hands and breast 

That surged and billowed with pangs half suppressed. 

Then rising on the altar step she stayed, 



HOW ZARIADRES WON ODATIS. Ill 

And slowly mixed the ruddy wine, and laid 

Fresh incense on the flames that leaped to sup 

The grape-juice foaming in the glittering cup. 

As in a dream, with gold-enwoven hair 

Around her marble shoulders, statue -fair, 

With tears upon her cheeks, and feet that grew 

Unto the senseless stone, and fading hue, 

Lingering and loth to leave, she stayed, nor heard 

How in the hall the lords wine-valiant stirred 

Vain echoes — nay, heard nought, but seemed to be 

Asleep and cradled in some mystery : 

Till raising weary eyes as one for whom 

All life is but a hurrying to the tomb. 

She saw beside her strong and still a man 

Clad in the travelling garb Marathian ; 

Grey was his tunic, and his broad hat fell 

Over the radiant brows she knew so well ; 

Yea, and clear eyes on hers were fixed, as when 

In visions of the night o'er marching men 

She watched One chariot-throned, and heard the cry 

Of heralds shouting as they trampled by. 

As then in dreams, so now in waking truth 

The yearning souls flew forth of maid and youth, 

Met in mid-air, and mingled, and no part 

For doubt or dread remained in either heart. 

He whispered : but his speech was nought but this : 

'■ Odatis ! I have found thee ! O my bliss ! 

Even as thou said'st, here am I ; give to me 

The cup of gold ! ' 



112 LOVE TALE OF ODATIS AND ZARLADRES. 

He ceased^ and smiled ; but she 
Poured the red wine upon the flames, and turned ; 
And while the ruddy tongues of fire still burned, 
Gave him the cup ; and from the altar they, 
Like visions of the night or phantoms grey, 
Stole with quick step unquestioned. Venus laid 
A wondrous silver mist o'er youth and maid ; 
And in the ears of all the Scythian kings 
A sound of flutings and sweet carolhngs 
Sang through the night, and held their charmed sense ; 
So that when morning through dim vapours dense 
Peered weeping with south-winds, they rubbed wide eyes 
And stared astonied at the vacant skies. 
But of their wrath those lovers nothing knew ; 
For four black Scythian chargers snorting drew 
Their light car through the snow-sprent wilderness 
That bridged the wasteful waves of Tanais. 
There as they passed, the south-wind swelled, and rain 
Fell with warm gusts upon the steaming plain : 
Deep in his bed the mad stream stirred and shook 
His frosty chains ; then wildly bounding broke 
The prison-arch of ice, and thundering o'er 
The huddling havock, surged on either shore, 
Spreading a wilderness of flood wherethrough 
No wight alive might fare while spring was new. 

Thus passed Odatis : like a dream she went 
With him who was her dream ; and wonderment 
Filled either bosom, feeling that the bliss 



HOW ZARIADRES WON ODATIS. II3 

Of visionary slumber matched with this 
Was as an idle shadow. But behind, 
She left a memory frail as woven wind ; 
For none knew how she fared or whither passed. 
But some averred that Jove himself had cast 
That silvery vapour round the saintly maid, 
That she, transported to the Elysian glade, 
Might meet the loves of mighty gods and be 
Mother of heroes through eternity. 

Not this her fate ; but by the whispering tide 

Choaspes 'neath the cedar shade, a bride. 

With him she loved to wander. Story saith 

That they were lovers till the hour of death : * 

And where on palace wall or pictured shrine 

The tales of ancient happy lovers shine. 

In gilded sandal-wood or ivory stained 

With hues of rose and saffron deep-engrained, 

There smiles Odatis and her Persian lord 

High on the Scythian car o'er steppe and sward 

Swiftly careering ; while behind them, bright 

As lesser lamps that gem the vaults of night, 

Earine and Zaffir through the foam 

Of windy Tanais from Omartes' home 

Prick their free steeds, and Cupid o'er them hovers. 

Lighting with torch benign the flying lovers. 



SONNETS. 



INTELLECTUAL ISOLATION, 



I. 



I WILL out-soar these clouds, and shake to nought 
The doubts that daunt my spirit : that is free, 
Invincible by death or destiny ; 
Nor need she take of love or friendship thought. 

Self-centred, self-sustained, self-guided, fraught 
With fervour of the brain enlightening me, 
Alone with God upon a shoreless sea, 
I'll find what men in crowds have vainly sought. 

I am at one with solitude, and loathe 

The tumult of those hopes and fears that fret 
Weak hearts in throbbing bosoms. Haply yet 

Some Titan vice or virtue shall unclothe 

Her mighty Hmbs for my sole sight, and I, 

Sufficing to myself and wisdom, die, 

117 



Il8 SONNETS. 

n. 

The world of human woe and weal I shun, 
Not forasmuch as I despise the joy- 
That lightens when life wakes in girl or boy, 
And glittering sands through passion's hour-glass run 

Of mortal joys there is not any one 
But I have made it for myself the toy 
Of fancy, nor hath love had power to cloy 
Him who leaves all the deeds of love undone. 

Despair of full fruition drives me hence, 
Uncomforted to seek repose in God : . 
Those tyrannous desires that stung my sense 

At every turn upon the road I trod, 

Seek their assuagement in a sphere where nought 
Dares to dispute the sovereignty of thought. 

III. 

Nay, soul, though near to dying, do not this ! 
It may be that the world and all its ways 
Seem but spent ashes of extinguished days. 
And love the phantom of imagined bliss : 

Yet what is man among the mysteries 

Whereof the young-eyed angels sang their praise ? 
Thou know'st not. Lone and wildered in the maze. 
See that hfe's crown thou dost not idly miss. 

Is friendship fickle ? Hast thou found her so ? 
Is God more near thee on that homeless sea 
Than by the hearths where children come and go ? 

Perchance some rotten root of sin in thee 

Hath made thy garden cease to bloom and glow : 
Hast thou no need from thine own self to flee ? 



INTELLECTUAL ISOLATION. II9 

ly. 

Couldst thou clasp God apart from man, or dwell 
Merged in the ocean of that infinite good 
Where truth and beauty are beatitude. 
This earth might well appear a living hell, 

The prison of damned spirits that rebel. 
Matched with thy paradise of solitude : 
Nathless it is not clasping God to brood 
Upon thine own delusive dreams ; the cell 

Built by an anchorite that strives with fate 
And kindly fellow feeling, may be found 
Like to a maniac's chamber, when too late, 

Abandoned to his will, without or sound 

Or sight of men his brethren, on the ground 
He lies, and all his life is desolate. 

V. 

It is the centre of the soul that ails : 

We carry with us our own heart's disease ; 

And craving the impossible, we freeze 

The lively rills of love that never fails. 
What faith, what hope will lend the spirit sails 

To waft her with a light spray-scattering breeze 

From this Calypso isle of phantasies, 

Self-sought, self-gendered, where the dayhght pales ? 
Where wandering visions of foregone desires 

Pursue her sleepless on a stony strand ; 

Instead of stars the bleak and baleful fires 
Of vexed imagination, quivering spires 

That have nor rest nor substance, light the land, 

Paced by lean hungry men, a ghostly band ! 



I20 SONNETS. 

VI. 

Oh that the waters of obUvion 

Might purge the burdened soul of her Hfe's dross, 
Cleansing dark overgrowths that dull the gloss 
Wherewith her pristine gold so purely shone ! 

Oh that some spell might make us dream undone 
Those deeds that fret our pillow, when we toss 
Racked by the torments of that living cross 
Where memory frowns, a grim centurion ! 

Sleep, the kind soother of our bodily smart, 

Is bought and sold by scales-weight ; quivering nerves 
Sink into slumber when the hand of art 

Hath touched some hidden spring of brain or heart : 
But for the tainted will no medicine serves j 
The road from sin to suffering never swerves. 

VII. 

What skill shall anodyne the mind diseased? 
Did Rome's fell tyrant cure his secret sore 
With those famed draughts of cooling hellebore ? 
What opiates on the fiends of thought have seized ? 

This fever of the spirit hath been eased 
By no grave simples culled on any shore ; 
No surgeon's knife, no muttered charm, no lore 
Of Phoebus Paian have those pangs appeased. 

Herself must be her saviour. Side by side 
Spring poisonous weed and helpful antidote 
Within her tangled herbage ; lonely pride 

And humble fellow-service ; dreams that dote. 
Deeds that aspire ; foul sloth, free labour : she 
Hath power to choose, and what she wills, to be. 



FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND DEATH. 121 



FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND DEATH. 



I. 



Friendship and Love I met upon a day : 

The one was clad in weeds of russet brown ; 

The other on his forehead wore a crown, 
And all his raiment sparkled like the May. 
Friendship cried to me with a kind voice ' Stay ! ' 

And well I knew her tender tones and mild ; 

But Love had caught me like a careless child, 
And spread his wings and carried me away. 
Then though I saw poor Friendship far below 

Wringing her hands and sobbing all in vain, 

I could but smile, nor could I soothe her pain ; 
For Love still bore me, as strong winds that blow 
Bear withered leaves, and still Love whispered low, 

' Heed not her cries, for we will come again.' 



122 SONA'ETS. 

II. 

Lady, when first the message came to me 
Of thy great hope and all thy future bliss, 
I had no envy of that happiness 

Which sets a limit to our joy in thee : 

But uttering orisons to gods who see 

Our mortal strife, and bidding them to bless 
With increase of pure good thy goodliness, 

I made unto the mild Mnemosyne 

More for myself than thee one prayer — that when 
Our paths are wholly severed, and thy years 

Glide among other cares and far-off men, 
She may watch over thee, as one who hears 
The music of the past, and in thine ears 

Murmur 'They Hve and love thee now as then.' 

ni. 

Alas ! nor Love nor Friendship hath the thews 

To strive with stubborn Death : though Death be thin, 
The wraith and phantom of forgiven sin ; 

While they are tinted with the morning hues 

Of God's own glory, dropping roseate dews 

On ^hearts and homes of faith-regenerate men ! — 
Nor friend nor wedded lover thee may win 

Back from Death's sable cypressed avenues. 

Therefore my song is stilled : for nought remains 
To comfort Love and Friendship but mute Hope ; 

Pale Hope, who seated by Death's willow, strains 
Sad eyes upon Heaven's unascended cope. 
Sighing ' The starry summits upward slope 

Toward God for ever ; wait ; 'tis there she reigns.' 



A DREAM. 12^ 



A DREAM. 

'Ev df/fiuTuv axrjviaLQ. 

I YEARN for you, my dearest ; for you came 
In visions of the night and stood by me : 
I took your hand, and set you on my knee, 
And stroked your hair, and drank the sunny flame 
Of your large eyes : I kissed your cool moist lips. 
And laid your cheek to mine, and asked you why 
You stayed so long away ; for lovers die 
In one short week of waiting, tears eclipse 
The moonlight of their eyes, where hope hath lit 
Radiance reflected from the brows they love : 
And then you laughed, and playful seemed to prove 
Whether or no I loved you, frowned and knit 
Brows all unused to anger, smiled again, 
And nestled to my side and breathed away my pain. 



124 SONNETS. 

And then I woke. The dazzling summer sun 
Shot fiery arrows through the hot white bHnd, 
Withering the dream for which my spirit pined, 

Urging me up hfe's weary race to run. 

And you were gone. Oh, why did cruel sleep 
Show me my darling to confuse the morrow 
With sweetest recollection steeped in sorrow? 

Might I not plod along the road and keep 

My recreant thoughts from banished Paradise ? 
Might I not glue my face to books, or fast 
Till long oblivion sealed the erring past ? 

Oh, it is hard ! Prayer, penance, sacrifice 
Must slowly wipe away short sleep's dehght, 
And years repair the ruin of a night. 



IN ABSENCE, 125 



IN ABSENCE, 



I. 



It irks me that the currents of my mind 
Indifferent images with subtle art 
Huddle Uke leaves tossed by the winter wind 
Profuse and frequent, while my careful heart 
Seeks, craving, through the wilderness of change 
The face she longs for — sadly and in vain 
Arrests the empty shadows as they range. 
Finding no comfort. On the steadfast brain 
A thousand forms are printed, features caught 
From pictures, travels, and the dreams of night ; 
Each clear and perfect, some with terror fraught, 
Some sad, some common, some divinely bright j 

But nowhere in the visionary train 

Shinest thou, my queen, to smile away my pain. 



126 SONNETS. 

II. 

Dearest, why can I not behold thy face 
When dreary distance makes me yearn and pine ? 
I muse and muse, each several feature trace, 
And draw again each well-remembered line. 
But when I fain would see thee as thou art. 
The dream dissolves ; I have no power to bind 
These separate recollections, or impart 
Thy soul's hfe* to the shadows of my mind. 
Eyes, lips, and brow, soft cheek, and braided hair, 
I see them all ; for one by one they glide 
Into my memory, and vanish there, 
Leaving my seeking soul unsatisfied. 

Thus doth Love cheat us with an empty show, 
Concealing that which we most wish to know. 

HI. 

Love cheats himself too greedily discerning 
Each separate sweet of that which he adores ; 
And, hne by line, the form of beauty learning, 
Forgets the pictured whole on which he pores. 
Thus he divides what he should unify : 
Too much division doth confuse the soul, 
Dissolves the subtle spirit's entity. 
And gives the parts where we would have the whole 
Like cracked unequal mirrors which reveal 
The forehead here, and here the hp discover ; 
Or like the ruffled stream which still did steal 
His proper image from the poor self-lover ; 
Or like tlie minds of men who feebly clasp 
Now this, now that, the great All never grasp. 



TWO SONNETS OF UNREST, 12/ 



TWO SONNETS OF UNREST. 

What of the night ? Upon the western bar 
A white hght Hngers ; and the East is grey 
Not yet with risings of the wished-for day, 

Nor yet the ghmmering of the herald star 

Sheds hope, however faint and frail and far : 
Still ringed around with gloom we sit and say. 
What of the night ? Still wrestle we as they 

Who wage with shapes of fever fruitless war. 

For weariness our very souls expire, 

For watching and for waiting. Is there worse 

Torment than this of ours, for whom no fire 
Of Hell is lighted ; but our barren curse 
Is summed in one inexorable verse — 

That without hope we languish in desire? 



128 SONNETS. 

Happy were they who fought with beasts and fell 
Bloodstained on sand beneath the lion's paw : 
Heaven open with untroubled eyes they saw, 

And through the fierce assembly's savage yell 
' Heard symphonies of angels. It was well 
Thus daring nobly for the better law, 
To march into the wide and ravening maw 

Of mere material death unterrible. 

But we who strike at shadows, we who fight 
With yielding darkness and with thin night-a.ir. 

Who shed no blood, who see no hideous sight. 
For whom no heaven is opened — our despair 

And utter desolation infinite 

Can find nor calm nor comfort anywhere. 



AN OLD GORDIAN KNOT. 1 29 



AN OLD GORDIAN KNOT, 



I. 



Between those men of old who nothing knew, 
But sang their song and cried the world is fair, 
Or dreamed a dream of heaven to cheat despair, 
Piling void temples neath the voiceless blue, 

And those for whom with revelation due 

Pure wisdom and the lore of all things good 
May yet be granted in the plenitude 
Of ages still to come and aeons new. 

Stand we who, knowing, yet know nought : undone 
Is all the fabric of that former dream ; 
Those songs we have unlearned, and, one by one, 

'Have tossed illusions down the shoreless stream ; 
Tearless and passionless we greet the sun. 
And with cold eyes gaze on a garish gleam. 



I30 SONNETS. 

II. 

I stood at sunrise on an Alpine height 

Whence plains were visible, and the domed sky 

Spread vacant in serene immensity ; 

Westward beneath my feet curled vapours white, 

And grew and gathered, while the East was bright : 
Then as the silver wreaths clomb silently, 
Methought a shadowy giant steeple-high 
Towered up above me ringed with radiant hght. 

Standing he bore the shape of me who stood 
Sole on that summit ; yea, he bowed or rose, 
Beckoned or threatened, as my varying mood 

Constrained his movement ; till the light that grev/. 
Wrought from the strife of clouds supreme repose, 
And heaven once more was still and stainless blue. 

III. 

Then in my soul I cried : even such is God — 
Made in our image, fashioned in our form, 
Woven on the vapours of the secular storm. 
Where spirit stirred not, nay nor Seraph trod : 

He framed no Adam from the plastic clod, 
No Eve for Adam's helpmate ; but this worm, 
Spawned by the world what time her spring was warm, 
This man, that crawled on earth's primeval sod, 

Learned not himself, but seeking outward saw 
* Transfigured self on circumambient air ; 
Whence seized by fatal impulse and strange awe, 

Worshipping what he knew not, he enslaved 
^ons of men who bhndly wept and raved 
To filmy phantoms of their own despair. 



AN OLD GORDIAN KNOT. 131 

IV. 

Moloch whose frown with furnace flame is dim, 
Starlike Astarte and crowned Ashtaroth, 
With her who rising from the bitter froth 
Of ocean v/aves loosened each languid limb ; 

Jehovah, lord of holiness, whose wrath 

Scatters like clouds the shuddering Seraphim, 
And He, the Crucified, who bound to him 
The bleeding nations with a brother's oath ; 

All these, and all besides whom all men fear. 
Are the phantasmal shadowy shows of man. 
Flesh of our flesh, soul of our soul, made clear 

And magnified for feeble eyes to scan ; 
Our gods ourselves are, glorious or base, 
As the dream varies with the varying race. 

v. 

What then was He, the Sun, who flashed his ray 
On that thin veil of momentary mist. 
Who summoned from the darkness and dismissed 
The spectre of myself at break of day? 

Was he not Lord perchance ? The phantom grey. 
Glimmering with purple and pale amethyst, 
He played with, as kings play with whom they list. 
Then did but smile, and made it melt away. 

Thus, howsoe'er our dreams and visions range. 
Dwells there not One secure, who still abides, 
Creating all, surveying chance and change, 

Whose ray the darkness and the cloud divides ? 
Him yet we see not, but shall surely see 
When in His time he bids the shadows flee. 



132 . SONNETS. 

VI. 

If this indeed be truth, how long shall man, 
Involved in dreams, deluded by vain hope, 
Fulfil the past's forgotten horoscope. 
Nor raise his head to heaven's meridian ? 

Alas ! nay, let him raise it : let him scan 
The temples of the sky from base to cope : 
What finds he there ? The azure arches slope 
Upward as when creation's day began : 

Pure light, pure ether, fine, impalpable : 

No form appears ; no thunder from the void 
Startles the stillness with plain oracle j 

The powers of earth and heaven are still employed 
In weaving their thin veil invisible, 
Nor have the growing years the veil destroyed. 

vn. 
Part of the whole that never can be known. 
Is this poor atom that we call our world ; 
Part of this part amid confusion hurled 
Is man, an idiot on a crumbhng throne- 
Yea, and each separate soul that works alone. 
Striving to pierce the clouds around him curled. 
Gasps but one moment in the tempest whirled, 
And what he builds strong Death hath overthrown. 
How shall this fragment of a waif, this scape 
In the oblivion of unreckoned years. 
This momentary guest of time, this ape 
That grins and chatters amid smiles and tears, — 
How shall he seize the skirts of God, and shape 
To solid form the truth that disappears ? 



AN OLD GORDIAN KNOT. 1 33 

VIII. 

Let man with man, let race with race, let age 
With age seonian linked in serried line, 
Scale the celestial station crystalline 
And with high God continual battle wage : 

Nay, let them pace in patient pilgrimage 

Toward that unknown mysterious hidden shrine 
Where dwells the very truth and life divine, 
If haply they may greet and kiss their Hege. 

O whither, whither shall their steps be led ? 

Upward or downward, on what paths of thought? — 
Have ye not seen the clouds that morning bred, 

Storming Olympus with fierce thunder fraught ? 
Ere noon they went their way, and overhead 
The same clear web of Hmpid light was wrought. 



134 SONNETS. 



THE ALPS AND ITALY. 



I HAD two loves : now both are lost to me ! 
One was a maiden, pure as mounded snow, 
Bright as those scentless summer flowers that blow 
On Alpine summits, uncontrollably free 

As winds that sweep the frozen glacier sea : 
The other was a witch, whose dark eyes glow 
Like mirrored stars asleep on Lario, 
Whose voice is even the voice of Italy. 

Now both are lost, which was the best beloved — 
She whose clear smile of daylight drew me up 
O'er snow and scaur to greet the ascendant sun ; 

Or she whose mouth mixed passion like a cup, 
Wherefrom I drank such rapture unreproved 
As Dian showered on young Endymion ? 



THE ALPS AND ITALY. . 1 35 

II. 

O solemn hours of high-souled solitude, 

Health and composure of the passionless mind ! 

On those calm heights no earth-born vapours bhnd 

The spirit in her heaven-aspiring mood. 
Love, my first love, who wert so true and good, 

Why did I ever fly from thee to find 

The bloom that withers and the joys that bind 

Mid Circe's sloth-imbruted multitude ? 
Wearied, heart-broken, worn, and withering. 

How can I lift me to thy luminous eyes ? 

My wasted life is but a worthless thing. 
Above me spread the hght-irradiate skies. 

While caged and cribbed the soul within me dies. 

Nor can the slow years heal her shattered wing. 

III. 

Thou second love, have I no hymn for thee, 
No holocaust to render at thy shrine. 
Where lap the waveless waters hyaline 
Of Venice shielded from the rough rude sea? 

Lo, thou hast had all thy wild will of me ; 
And I am but thy bond-slave j I am thine. 
Mad wondrous love of May-nights and the shine 
Of quivering lamps and wave-borne minstrelsy ! 

No need to sing thy praises, or to pray 

To thee, who hovering o'er my dreaming head, 
Drainest my Hfe-blood nightly, day by day 

Pursuest me with visions, and dost spread 

Snares for my failing feet ! Though thou art dead, 
Thy phantom lures me still to sure decay. 



136 SONNETS. 

IV. 
Nay, Loves, of one high lineage undefiled, 

As ye are strong and dreadful, and must be 

Lords of my life for all eternity, 

So be ye also merciful and mild. 
To you I gave myself while yet a child : 

I cried, ' For beauty, lo, I live ; for me 

There shall be nought in earth or air or sea, 

That shall not fill my heart with rapture wild.' 
Slay not your servant ! See me stabbed and stung 

With arrows of intolerable ire ! 

Shafts from your splendours on my spirit flung, 
Have parched my heart's blood with intensest fire : 

I vowed to live for your divinity ; 

Like lightning- smitten Semele, I die. 

V. 

Fair sights and sounds assail me. I am torn 
By the quick pulses of the passionate sky, 
Throbbing with light of stars, or stormfully 
Piling pearled thunder-clouds athwart the morn. 

The strange sweet glance, the smile of passers borne 
From hearts that know me not through lip and eye, 
Thrill me with fruitless longing — I would die 
To feel their life and be less love-forlorn. 

The world is thus a quiver stored with sharp 
Fledged shafts of inexpressible pleasure-pain. 
Searching the marrow of the wakeful brain ; 

While memory, like a tense ^olian harp, 
Sensitive to the breath of dreams that sweep 
Its tingling chords, torments the soul in sleep. 



THE ALPS AND ITALY, 1 3/ 

VI. 

Gustans gustavi mellis pauUulum, 

Et ecce morior ! — A little honey 

I tasted, pure as palest agrimony, 

And lo, the death-pangs on my soul are come ! — 
Was this my sin ? Amid the tangled trees 

Where He hath set our going, drops the comb 

From many a pendent bough, the wild bee's home : 

May we not take thereof a little ease ? 
God hangs that harmless venom in our sight ; 

But man's vow makes it mortal, or man's will 

Bent upon lawlessness and lewd delight. 
Could we but extirpate each thought of ill. 

Could we but strip our soul of self, we might 

Aye taste God's honey on His holy hill. 

VII. 

'Tis self whereby we suffer : 'tis the greed 

To grasp, the hunger to assimilate 

All that earth holds of fair and delicate, 

The lust to blend with beauteous lives, to feed 
And take our fill of loveliness, which breed 

This anguish of the soul intemperate : 

'Tis self that turns to pain and poisonous hate 

The calm clear life of love the angels lead. 
Oh, that 'twere possible this self to burn 

In the pure flames of joy contemplative ! 

Then might we love all loveliness, nor yearn 
With tyrannous longings ; undisturbed might live, 

Greeting the summer's and the spring's return, 

Nor waihng that their bloom is fugitive ! 



138 SONNETS. 

VIII. 

Too far I wander from my chosen theme. 

Once more, ye mountains, and ye lands, once more, 
With oleanders crowned and olives hoar. 
To you returns the spirit of my dream. 

Upon this Sabbath morning all things seem 
Hallowed to calm. Thus oftentimes before 
The seventh day brought a truce to pain, and bore 
My shallop through still waters down life's stream. 

Nearer to God, in this sedater mood, 

I can surmount those rival loves, and see 
Both beauties blent in His beatitude. 

My earth-bound soul now for one hour is free ; 
And soaring upward from this altitude, 
The Love of Loves Himself enlightens me. 



AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 



FROM HEINE. 

There is a fir stands lonely 

In the North on a bald hill-brow : 

It sleeps, and with folds of whiteness 
Envelop it ice and snow. 

It sleeps and dreams of a palm-tree, 
Far off in the Morning-land, 

Lonely and silent pining 

On a cliff o'er the shimmering sand. 



THE LOVE OF THE ALPS. 

There was a time, ye mountains and ye streams, 
E'er yet I knew the might of your control ; 

But now, where'er I go, your presence seems 
To fill the inmost chamber of my soul. 

Restraining me in hours of sloth from wrong 

And prompting nobler thoughts when I am strong. 

141 



142 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Long time I listened patient at your knee 
To hear the melody which would not flow 

From cloud and crag and breathing wind and tree 
And silver summits of untainted snow ; 

Yet still I waited, bowed in bitter shame, 

And on my thankless spirit laid the blame. 

It was a dark and drear novitiate : 

I saw, but could not feel your awful calm : 

I lay abandoned at your palace gate : 

Fainting I wrestled for the glorious palm : 

And knew that he who strives must surely win, 

That he who knocks and waits will enter in. 

Many there passed me glad and light of heart 
With counterfeited hymns of hollow praise, 

Who bade me in their service take a part — 
I scorned their empty words and erring ways. 

And rather chose to lie outside your shrine 

Than be the High Priest of the half divine. 

You saw and heard me ; not one weary hour 
Of all that waiting time was spent in vain ; 

For since I felt your strong prophetic power 
Beat in the fiery pulse of heart and brain. 

You have not left your servant day or night. 

But are his ceaseless source of comfort and delight. 

There was no blinding vision, no loud cry 
Of thundrous adjuration, when my soul 



THE LOVE OF THE ALPS. 1 43 

Felt that the consecrating grace was nigh, 

And heard the heavenly gates asunder roll, 
And saw the hallowed mysteries, and trod 
The sounding chambers of the house of God. 

Sunsetting and sunrising, silent stars 

In dim procession through the untroubled sky, 

Still winds that came and went, and noisy jars 
Of whirlwinds battling with the clouds on high. 

The solitary voices of the floods, 

Flowers, and deep places of primeval woods ; 

These wrought the change ; for these from childhood's 
dawn 

Had nurtured me j through these, as through the rites 
Of due initiation I was drawn 

Into communion with those sacred heights 
On which God's glory broodeth as a cloud. 
Which with the voice of very God are loud. 



THE CROCUS AND THE SOLDANELLA. 

Wherever on the untrodden Alps 

The snows begin to fade. 
And frozen streams to leap again 

Beneath the pine-tree shade ; 



144 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

While still the grass is brown and dead 

With its long winter sleep, 
And leafless shrubs their withered arms 

Stretch down the barren steep ; 
Then here and there two little flowers, 

Like lights of earliest morn, 
Or rays of hope in sorrow seen. 

Shine on the slopes forlorn. 
They break the snow with gentle force 

And struggle toward the sun : 
The chilly wreaths around them melt, 

The streams beneath them run. 
The dull old earth feels young again, 

So fresh and bright they peer. 
Pale pearly cups and lilac bells. 

Crying ' The spring is here.' 
But when the snows have died and flown 

Like spirits to the sky, 
In shape of fleecy summer clouds 

That on the mountains lie ; 
When on the cool green fields the grass 

Grows deeper day by day ; 
And all the troops of laughing flowers 

Make rock and meadow gay ; 
Then you may look in vain to find 

These first frail buds of spring : 
The month that quickens all to life 

Hath watched their withering. 
They broke the frozen winter snow, 

And spake the first good morrow ; 



THE CROCUS AND THE SOLDANELLA. I45 

They bade us be of better cheer 

When we were dulled with sorrow. 
Now they must die and droop away : 

Their very graves ignore them ; 
Fresh leaves and gaudy blossoms wave 

Above the slopes that bore them. 
Only where here and there the snows 

Of avalanches linger, 
And Winter on a gloomy dell 

Lays his cold lifeless finger ; 
There still secluded from the wealth 

Of happier fields they blow, 
Blooming and fading hour by hour 

Near the retreating snow. 
They bloom and fade, and do not shrink 

From their appointed duty ; 
To show the path that June must tread 

But not to share her beauty ; 
To live their short lives on the brink 

Of death, and then to perish. 
Between the chill snow and the sun 

That burns but does not cherish. 
Die, little flowers, but not unwept 

Nor yet unhonoured die : 
Like you dawn's herald star doth fade 

From the dim morning sky ; 
Like you the great and good and wise. 

The first of those who woke 
From sleeps of ignorance and through 

The snows of ages broke, 



146 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Sank, having done their work, nor saw 
The summer they foretold — 

Glad flowers and grasses o'er them wave, 
Blue, crimson, green, and gold. 



ON THE ALP. 



We met, but nought from thee I prayed, 
Thou solitary mountain maid : 

How could I tame 
Unto my melancholy mood. 
The rhythms of thy bounding blood, 

Thy soul of flame ? 

I did but see thee and pass by, 
Gazing with half-averted eye 

Lest Love should leap 
Upon my heart like winds that dash 
The rock-entwining mountain ash 

Adown the steep. 

Yet as I looked and saw thee stand 
Twixt sun and shade with lifted hand 
And bright eyes blue. 



ON THE ALP. 147 

With curving lips half opened free, 
And hair that curled tempestuously, 
And heightened hue j 

Receiving full on furtive eyes 
The magic of thy soft surprise, 

The subtle spell 
Of some sweet trouble in thy mind 
Scarce felt like tremblings undefined 

On a clear well j 

Into my soul of souls a god 

With wild fire flew, and flaming trod 

Her secret shrine ; 
So that I stood astonied then, 
And now beneath the eyes of men 

In silence pine. 



BEFORE SUNRISE. 

A FULL moon sinking in the west ; a beam 
Of morn uprising from the orient skies : 
Dim meadow-ways beneath, where the dew lies 
And flowers of autumn crocus faintly gleam. 

Through the hushed pines, beside the hurrying stream. 
We downward fare, while bells of dawning rise 
From unseen hamlets, and before our eyes 
The solid world looms like a twilight dream. 



148 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

High up in heaven above the unfading snow, 
Laved by strong ocean floods of confluent Hght, 
A sole star shines ; within its restless spark 

Ruby and sapphire mingle, shoot, and glow — 
Thus, Petrarch, didst thou burn, intensely bright. 
Betwixt the day-spring and the dolorous dark. 



THE CAPPUZIN. 



A SPHINX-LIKE face, wrapped with eternal snow, 
Frost-bound in petrifaction, stark and dread. 
With sneers on the blurred lips and eyeballs dead, 
And menace on the brows that lie so low ; 

A Niobe whose tears have ceased to flow. 
Ridged into icy wrinkles ; vanquished 
Prometheus, who no longer lifts his head 
To give Jove's vulture blow for bloody blow; 

The image of a spent faith, mocking man 1 

With vain similitude of human form, 
Obsolete, outworn, ugly, ossified. 

Clogged with dull mist and elemental storm 
Whereof the ancient harmonies have died 
Down to blank murmurs, doubts seonian. 



ON THE SCHWAMZHORN. 1 49 



ON THE SCHWARZHORN. 

In the divine September weather 
We clomb yon sable horn, as free 

As any floating wind-stirred feather 
Of cloud in heaven's immensity. 

The heavens above us slept, and golden 
Were all the hghts of earliest day : 

Not one sharp peak was unbeholden 
Of all the heights that round us lay. 

East called to West with giant voices, 
And North to South gave back the song ; 

With pride as when a god rejoices. 
The Ortler shouted to Mont Blanc. 

Bernina's serried ice-tops glistened 
In glory of the ascendant morn ; 

And far away those brethren listened 
Around the towering Aletschhorn. 

From pain and care and fear delivered 
We drank the sun-illumined view : 

The little winds that round us shivered, 
Brought winged hopes and rapture new. 



150 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Then from that high up-lifted eyrie 

We hailed Pitz Languard, and the span 

Of all those years, so sweet, so weary, 
Was bridged, and better hfe began : 

For past and present flew together ; 

Father and mother, side by side, 
In the divine September weather 

Saw in their child love justified. 



AN AUTUMN DAY. 

A SOUL is in the sunlight. Not one breath 
Troubles the stainless and translucent sky. 
Methinks the spirits of the mountains fly 
Heaven-ward like flames. Blue air encompasseth 

The congregated Alps that hft on high 

Their crowned brows, to hear what Summer saith. 
She, having whispered, will depart ; and death 
Comes in the clasp of Winter by and by. 

Hushed are the pines. There is no stir, no strife. 
No fretful wailing of frore winds that blow 
Earth's winding-sheet of cold uncoloured snow. 

This morn, upon the brink of dying. Life 

Draws a deep draught of peace, and rapture thrills 
Through all the pulses of the impassioned hills. 



NOVEMBER. — AFTER SUNSET. 151 



NOVEMBER. 

Frost comes ; and the summer is finished ; 

The world lies vacant and still, 
To dream through the winter with minished 

Dull life in the desolate chill. 

Thus we, when the sense of enjoyment 
Hath passed from our blood and our brain, 

Are left without light or employment 
In passionless pain. 



AFTER SUNSET. 

My heart is far away : 
Love holds it in his hand 
On that enchanted strand, 
With hope and youth to-day. 

My prison house of snow 
Is still and cold as death : 
There comes not any breath 
From love that laughs below. 

Into the skies I gaze 
At sundown for the star 
Who looks on love afar 
Beneath those roseate rays. 



152 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS, 

Will my heart's message come ? 
Speak, star, or I shall die ! — 
Hesper hath set, dark night is nigh, 
Love sleeps, my heart is dumb. 



AN INVITATION TO THE SLEDGE. 

Come forth, for dawn is breaking ; 

The sun hath touched the snow : 
Our blithe sledge -bells are calling. 

And Christian waits below. 

All day o'er snow-drifts gliding 
Twixt grey-green walls of ice, 

We'll chase the winter sunhght 
Adown the precipice. 

Above black swirling death-waves 
We will not shrink nor blanch. 

Though the bridge that spans the torrent 
Be built by an avalanche. 

We'll talk of love and friendship 

And hero-hearted men. 
Mid the stems of spangled larches 

In the fairy-frosted glen. 



AN INVITATION TO THE SLEDGE. 1 53 

With flight as swift as swallows 

We'll sweep the curdled lake, 
Where the groans of prisoned kelpies 

Make the firm ice-pavement quake. 

We'll thread the sombre forest, 

Where giant pines are crowned 
With snow-caps on their branches 

Bent to the snowy ground. 

Strong wine of exultation, 

Free thoughts that laugh at death. 

Shall warm our winged spirits 

Though the shrill air freeze our breath. 

With many a waif of music 

And memory-wafted song. 
With the melody of faces 

Loved when the world was young, 

With clear Hellenic stories 

And names of old romance. 
We'll wake our soul's deep echoes 

While the hills around us dance : 

Dance to the arrowy motion 

Of our sledge so firm and free. 
Skimming the beaten snow-track 

As a good ship skims the sea. 



154 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Like love, like all that's joyous, 
Like youth, like life's dehght, 

This day is dawning o'er us 
Between a night and a night. 

O friend, 'tis ours to clasp it ! 

Come forth ! No better bhss 
For hearts by hope upHfted 

Hath heaven or earth than this ! 



A BALLATA. 



' I MET my love among the low 
Lake-gardens of Menaggio.' 

O shepherd, drive thy flocks a-field, 
Thy hungry flocks, that feed alway ^ 

Upon the flowers of thoughts that yield 
Sweet pasture to the soul in May ! 
Yet, ere thou leave me, shepherd, say 

Where Love's immortal lilies grow 1 

* I met my love among the low 
Lake-gardens of Menaggio.* 

Is there a home for errant Love, 

Whose wings are weary with the chase 
Of airy dreams that float above 



A BALLATA. ' 155 

The clasp of flying Love's embrace? 
Know'st some cool and tranquil place 
Where poppies and nepenthe blow? 

* I met my love among the low 
Lake-gardens of Menaggio.' 

Say, shepherd, hast thou seen the god 
Who in his arms bears wounded Love ? 

Have thine enchanted footsteps trod 
Elysium's sleepy myrtle-grove, 
Where rest remains for souls that strove, 

And waters of oblivion flow? 

' I met my love among the low 
Lake-gardens of Menaggio.' 

O shepherd, hast thou nought but this 
Wherewith to soothe a heart that yearns? 

So may thy fair flocks never miss 

Meet pasturage mid flowers and ferns, 
As thou shalt tell me whither turns 

Love wildered on the homeless snow ! 

' I met my love among the low 
Lake-gardens of Menaggio.' 



156 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

IN FEBRUARY. 

The birds have been singing to-day 
And saying : ' The spring is near ! 
The sun is as warm as in May, 
And the deep blue heavens are clear.' 

The little bird on the boughs 

Of the sombre snow-laden pine 

Thinks : ' Where shall I build me my house, 

And how shall I make it fine ? 

' For the season of snow is past : 
The mild south wind is on high; 
And the scent of the spring is cast 
From his wing as he hurries by.' 

The Httle birds twitter and cheep 

To their loves on the leafless larch : 

But seven foot deep the snow-wreaths sleep, 

And the year hath not worn to March. 



WAITING, 



The sunbeams slant along the snow j 

It is a day of days : 
O magic of those lands below, 

How long the spring delays ! 
Hast thou detained her on the shore 
Where bloom Love's hlies ever more ? 



FRAGMENT OF A LETTER, 1 57 



FRAGMENT OF A LETTER. 

I PAUSE, and break this sombre strain. — 

Do you remember how the rain 

Hissed in the beech-boughs, when one night 

We sat and talked in evening Ught 

Here in the music-room, and you 

Played Bach's first prelude not quite through? 

And how the weird discordant cry 

Of that old Erard made me sigh. 

Thinking what wealth of -memories 

Lay locked and frozen in its keys? 

Here am I sitting now : the rain 

Beats on the rattling window-pane \ 

And yet I dare not thus alone 

Evoke that melancholy tone, 

I cannot strike one chord lest I 

Should have to warl in sympathy : 

For am I not like it forlorn, 

With strings of sweetest tone outworn, 

Thrust out of sight in Alpine cold, 

Ere half my melodies are told? 



15S AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 



PROMETHEUS DEAD. 

On a night of mid December, 
In this land of frost and snow, 

Came a dream which I remember 
After years of joy and woe, 

For the vision bore the burden 

Of a hundred voices heard on 
Shores of Hfe where hope is low. 

Mid Caucasian crags I wandered. 
Peaks up-piled above the sea. 

And my soul was dark and pondered 
Cheerless on a doom to be. 

Which I could nor mark nor measure, 

Though its cold incumbent pressure 
Like a mountain weighed on me. 

'Twas the moment when the mellow 
Lights of earliest dawn are felt, 

Long before the east is yellow 
Or the shades begin to melt. 

But some tremor gives a warning 

To the shuddering stars that morning 
Stirs beneath dim Ocean's belt. 

To those gaunt grey cHffs, fantastic 
Torrents clung of flawless ice. 



PROMETHEUS DEAD, 159 

Carved and moulded by the plastic 

Hand of frost with quaint device ; 
Fret, frieze, pinnacle, pilaster, 
Sharp and clear as alabaster, 

Sculptured on the precipice. 

Here the storm and stress of winter, 

Here the smiting shafts of morn. 
Strewed the stones with spilth and splinter 

From the fairy fabric torn ; 
But though changing, lasting never, 
Still new shapes were rising ever. 

From the frozen fountains born. 

Through the twilight stern and solemn, 
Long, how long, I groped my way, 

Twixt sheer crag and azure column, 
Where the glassy ruin lay; 

Till at length there flew a message 

From the sea, with rosy presage 
Heralding the birth of day. 

Then at that first bhssful minute. 

While my heart leaped up to face 
Dawning with the world's life in it. 

And the sun-god's dear embrace. 
Led by dreams I found a chasm 
Where the earth-throe's primal spasm 

Clove the hills from cope to base. 



l60 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Slept old ocean's myriad fountains 
Like a glittering snake encurled 

Round the girdle of the mountains, 
On the limits of the world ; 

But above, in new-born glory. 

Rose a glacier smooth and hoary, 
Where the wildest rocks were hurled. 

From abrupt and monstrous ledges 
Hung the flood upheld by frost ; 

Pierced with adamantine wedges 
Five times mid the tempest-tossed 

Wreck of old-world ice that weltered 

On the scaur no forest sheltered, 
And no foot hath ever crossed. 

Waved like water, like a mirror 
Crystal- clear without one flaw, . 

Quickening the soul to terror 
With a vague mysterious awe. 

Flowed that fount of tears eternal 

Freed and fixed by the diurnal 
Interchange of frost and thaw. 

Underneath yon glassy ocean 

Which the five-fold nails transfix, , 

Looms a god's form without motion 
Strained as on a crucifix ; 



PROMETHEUS DEAD. l6l 

From his chin the beard is streaming, 
Over breast and shoulder gleaming \ 
Grey grey hairs and glacier mix. 

And the sculptured limbs Titanic, 

'Neath that ribbed transparent veil, 
Elemental yet organic. 

Quiver not, nor flinch, nor quail ; 
Though 'twixt crag and ice in anguish 
They are doomed for aye to languish, 

Though those tears shall never fail. 

Ah, Prometheus ! Friend and master ! 

Dost thou still endure for us 
Thy perpetual disaster 

On the cliffs of Caucasus? 
Shall new creeds and new gods waken 
Hope for men, while thou forsaken 

Still must weep and suffer thus ? 

Shall thy fount of tears, still flowing, 

Freezing still, for ever run, 
Waning, waxing, wasting, growing. 

Prisoning thee from stars and sun ? 
Kinder surely were Jove's vulture 
Than this death-in-life sepulture, 

Pitied, scorned, and shared by none ! 



1 62 AMONG THE MOUNTAINS. 

Thus I cried j but day new-risen 
Pierced the ice, and I could see 

That encased in that cold prison 
Lay a mummied mystery ; 

For the old faiths die and dwindle 

With each twirl of Clotho's spindle, 
And she spins eternally. 

Yea, our faiths fade ; and the older 
Gods who groaned and bled for men. 

Turn to stone and ice ; they moulder 
Far withdrawn from mortal ken : 

And in dreams and visions lonely 

We revoke their phantoms only, 
Nor bring back our dead again. 



IN ITALY. 



AT AMALFL 

Here might I rest for ever ; here, 
Till death, inviolate of fear, 

Descended cloud-like on calm eyes, 
Enjoy the whisper of the waves 
Stealing around those azure caves. 

The gloom and glory of the skies ! 

Great mother, Nature, on thy breast 
Let me, unsoiled by sorrow, rest, 
By sin unstirred, by love made free : 
Full-tried am I by years that bring 
The blossoms of the tardy spring 
Of wisdom, thine adept to be. 

In vain I pray : the wish expires 
Upon my lip, as fade the fires 

Of youth in withered veins and weak ; 
Not mine to dwell, the neophyte 
Of Nature, in her shrine of light, 

But still to strive and still to seek. 

165 



1 66 IN ITALY. 

I have outgrown the primal mirth 
That throbs in air and sea and earth j 

The world of worn humanity 
Reclaims my care -, at ease to range 
Those hills, and watch their interchange 

Of Hght and gloom, is not for me. 

Dread Pan, to thee I turn : thy soul 
That through the living world doth roll, 

Stirs in our heart an aching sense 
Of beauty, too divinely wrought 
To be the food of mortal thought, 

For earth-born hunger too intense. 

Breathless we sink before thy shrine ; 
We pour our spirits forth like wine ; 

With trembling hands we strive to lift 
The veil of airy amethyst. 
That shrouds thy godhood like a mist ; 

Then, dying, forth to darkness drift. 

Thy life around us laughs, and we 
Are merged in its immensity ; 

Thy chanted melodies we hear, 
The marrying chords that meet and kiss 
Between two silences ; but miss 

The meaning, though it seems so clear. 

From suns that sink o'er silent seas. 
From myrtles neath the mountain breeze 
Shedding their drift of scented snow, 



AT AMALFI. 1 6/ 

From fleeting hues, from sounds that swoon 
On pathless hills, from night and noon, 
The inarticulate passions flow, 

That are thy minions, mighty Pan ! 
No priest hast thou ; no muse or man 

Hath ever told, shall ever tell, 
But each within his heart alone, 
Awe-struck and dumb hath learned to own 

The burden of thine oracle. 



LOOKING BACK. 

(at SORRENTO, MARCH 1 864.) 

Why murmur, why look back, my soul ? 
Six long years like an ocean roll 

Between thy youth and thee. 
Thou hast the present ; keep that fast : 
Trust not the future ; drown the past : 

What thou art, learn to be. 

Deep orange groves by Naples' shore, 
Warm slopes with laughing olives hoar. 

The myrtle by the bay : 
Bright flowers that in the thickets blow. 
Soft airs that melt the mountain snow. 

Showers weeping silver spray : 



1 68 IN ITALY. 

All these thou hast ; and dost thou sigh 
For Clifton's oft beclouded sky, 

Her woods and barren down ; 
The tawny strait, the narrow stream, 
The cliff where thou wast wont to dream. 

The tumult of the town ; 

The old Cathedral, quaint and grey, 
Where stately service, day by day, 

From choir and organ pealed ; 
The little face, loved long ago. 
The thrilling treble, faint and low, 

The pain its music healed? 

The memory of that sacred spring 
Still stirs my soul to sorrowing ; 

She cannot choose but sigh. 
I dwelt as in a magic isle 
With fairy fancies to beguile 

My life's monotony. 

Love was the wand I swayed at will : 
Not Ischia's slope nor Capri's hill 

Have joys so fair and free. 
As in that brief enchanted spring 
From every humble household thing 

I fashioned for my glee. 

Too soon it fled ; and year by year 
Came slowly trooping care and fear. 
Spent powers and clouded faith : 



LOOKING BACK. 1 69 

A sorrow to my spirit clung — 
A pang, not mine, whose poison stung 
The soul it could not scathe. 

Nor .health nor hope remained ; I fled 
From land to land ; my weary head 

In strangers' homes I laid : 
And now, by fair Sorrento's bay, 
I sit and sigh this sweet spring day, 

Beneath the olive shade. 

The birds may murmur as they will, 
The kids may leap upon the hill. 

The wavelets on their sand : 
But I must bear an even heart, 
Proof against pain or passion's smart ; 

Unstirred, unshaken, stand. 

Once more I will begin to live ; 
The future much may have to give ; 

Her face I cannot see ; 
But feel as though the past had been 
Played out unto its utmost scene, 

The stage swept clear and free. 

Bid memory with each rolling year 
Fold fainter wings, and disappear j 

Then wrap thy soul in strength : 
There's rest beneath the weltering wave ; 
There's rest in heaven though storms may rave ; 

Thou too shalt rest at length. 



I/O IN ITALY, 



LINES WRITTEN ON THE ROOF OF 
MILAN CATHEDRAL. 

' A mount of marble, a hundred spires.' 

The long, long night of utter loneliness, 
Of conflict, pain, defeat, and sore distress, 
Hath vanished ; and I stand as one whose life 
Wages with death a scarcely winning strife. 
Here on this mount of marble. Like a sea 
Waveless and blue, the sky's transparency 
Bathes spire and statue. Was it man or God 
Who built these domes, whereon the feet have trod 
Of eve and night and morn with rose and gold 
And silver and strange symbols manifold 
Of shadow ? Fabric not of stone 'but mist 
Or pearl or cloud beneath heaven's amethyst 
Glitters the marvel : cloud congealed to shine 
Through centuries with lustre crystalline ; 
Pearl spiked and fretted like an Orient shell ; 
Mist on the frozen fern-wreaths of a well. 
Not God's but man's work this : God's yonder fane, 
Reared on the distant limit of the plain. 
From azure into azure, to blue sky 
Shooting from vapours blue that folded lie 



LINES WRITTEN ON MILAN CATHEDRAL. I/I 

Round valley-basements, robed in royal snow, 

Wherefrom life-giving waters leaping flow. 

Aerial Monte Rosa ! — God and man 

Confront each other, with this narrow span 

Of plain to part them, try what each can do 

To make applauding Seraphs from the blue 

Lean marvel- smitten, or alight with song 

Upon the glittering peaks, or clustering throng 

The spacious pathways. God on man's work here 

Hath set His signature and symbol clear ; 

Man's soul that thinks and feels, to God's work there 

Gives life, which else were cold and dumb and bare. 

God is man's soul ; man's soul a spark of God : 

By God in man the dull terrestrial clod 

Becomes a thing of beauty ; thinking man 

Through God made manifest, outrival can 

His handiwork of nature. Do we dream 

Mingling reality with things that seem ? 

Or is it true that God and man appear 

One soul in sentient art self-conscious here. 

One soul o'er senseless nature stair by stair 

Raised to create by comprehending there ? 



1/2 IN ITALY. 



IN VENICE. 

I. 

THE INVITATION TO THE GONDOLA. 

Come forth ; for Night is faUing, 
The moon hangs round and red 

On the verge of the violet waters, 
Fronting the dayhght dead. 

Come forth ; the liquid spaces 
Of sea and sky are as one, 

Where outspread angel flame-wings 
Brood o'er the buried sun. 

Bells call to bells from the islands, 

And far-off mountains rear 
Their shadowy crests in the crystal 

Of cloudless atmosphere. 

A breeze from the sea is wafted ; 

Lamp-litten Venice gleams 
With her towers and domes uplifted 

Like a city seen in dreams. 

Her water-ways are a-tremble 
With melody far and wide, 



IN VENICE. I'Jl 

Borne from the phantom galleys 
That o'er the darkness glide. 

There are stars in heaven, and starry 

Are the wandering lights below : 
Come forth ! for the Night is calling, 

Sea, city, and sky are aglow ! 



n. 

THE PONTE DI PARADISO. 

PRELUDE. 

Of all the mysteries wherethrough we move, 
This is the most mysterious — that a face. 
Seen peradventure in some distant place. 
Whither we can return no more to prove 

The world-old sanctities of human love, 

Shall haunt our waking thoughts, and gathering grace 
Incorporate itself with every phase 
Whereby the soul aspires to God above. 

Thus are we wedded through that face to her 
Or him who bears it ; nay, one fleeting glance. 
Fraught with a tale too deep for utterance, 

Even as a pebble cast into the sea. 

Will on the deep waves of our spirit stir 
Ripples that run through all eternity. 



174 ^^ ITALY. 



THEME. 

This is the bridge of Paradise : 

'Twas here he lay, 
Gazing with large and earnest eyes 

That summer day. 

Twelve years since then have flown, and yet 

I seem to see 
From yon smooth marble parapet 

Him smile at me. 

Once more, a living god, he stands. 

Flings back his hair ; 
Lifts his strong arms, and spreads his hands 

To the warm air. 

I know not what electric thrill, 

'Twixt me and him. 
Shot with a sudden ache that still 

Makes daylight dim. 

Only those dark and steadfast eyes. 

Where the soul shone. 
When I awake in Paradise 

Will greet my own. 



IN VENICE. 175 



EPILOGUE. 

Soul cries to soul, as star to sundered star 
Calls through the void of intermediate night ; 
And as each tiniest spark of stellar light 
Includes a world where moving myriads are, 

Thus every glance seen once and felt afar 
Symbols an universe : the spirit's might 
Leaps through the gazing eyes, with infinite 
Pulsations that no lapse of years can mar. 

He therefore dwells within me still \ and I 

Within him dwell j though neither clasp of hand 
Nor interchange of converse made us one : 

And it shall surely be that when we die, 
In God shall both see clear and understand 
What soul to soul spake, sun to brother sun. 



ni. 
IN THE SMALL CANALS. 

Love, felt from far, long sought, scarce found, 

On thee I call \ 
Here where with silvery silent sound 

The smooth oars fall ; 



1/6 IN ITALY. 

Here where the glimmering water-ways, 

Above yon stair, 
Mirror one trembling lamp that plays 

In twilight air ! 

What sights, what sounds, O poignant Love, 

Ere thou wert flown. 
Quivered these darksome waves above, 

In darkness known ! 

I dare not dream thereof; the sting 

Of those dead eyes 
Is too acute and close a thing 

For one who dies. 

Only I feel through glare and gloom. 

Where yon lamp falls. 
Dim spectres hurrying to their doom. 

And Love's voice calls : 

'Twas better thus toward death to glide, 

Soul-full of bhss, 
Than with long life unsatisfied 

Life's crown to miss. 



VINTAGE. l>jy 

VINTAGE. 

I FOUND him lying neath the vines that ran 

Grape-laden o'er grey frames of oak and beech ; 
A fair and jocund Faun, whose beard began, 
• Like dewy down on quince or blushing peach, 
To soften chin and cheek. He bade me reach 
My hand to his, and drew me through the screen 
Of clusters intertwined with glistening green. 

Sunrise athwart us fell — a living fire. 

That touching turned our tendrilled roof to red ; 

Network of shade from many a flickering spire 
And solid orb upon the youth was shed ; 
With purple grapes and white his comely head 

Was crowned, and in his hand a bunch he pressed 

Against the golden glory of his breast. 

Gourds with the grapes, and hops, and serpentine 
Wreaths of blue bindweed tangling built a bower, 

Where lying we could watch 'twixt vine and vine 
Young men and maidens move, and singing shower 
On wattled crates the fruit whose hoary flower 

With dew still glistened j for the kiss of night 

Lay yet on vale and mountain misty-bright. 

Some trod the press ; some cKmbed the elms that hung 

Vine-burdened ; and beneath, a beardless boy 
Tuning his melancholy lute-strings sung 



178 IN ITALY. 

A wild shrill song, that spake of only joy, 
But was so sad that virgins cold and coy 
Melted, and love mid sorrow-sweetness fell 
On careless hearts that felt the powerful spell. 



THE MYRTLE BOUGH, 

On this low shore where Lerici 

Still dreams of her dead Cyprian queen, 
A myrtle rod I break for thee, 

White flowers and dark leaves ever green. 

I know not whether Love or Death 
Be symbolled by the branch I raise ; 

Both Love and Death could claim a wreath 
Of myrtle in those ancient days. 

Take then the leaves and let them crown 
In some still hour his brows and thine ; 

But lay the moon-white blossoms down, 
A sacrifice to Proserpine. 

So shalt thou pledge, thy friend and thou, 

That old Eumenidean troth. 
Of love through life the binding vow 

Sworn unto death who waits for both. 



HENDECASYLLABLES. 1 79 



HENDE CASYLLABLES. 

O THE beautiful eyes of contadini ! 
O the ring of their voices on the hill-sides ! 
O their gravity, grace of antique movement — 
Driving furrows athwart the autumnal cornland, 
Poised like statues above the laden axles 
Drawn by tardy majestic oxen homewards ! 
What large melody fills you, ye divine youths, 
Meet companions of old Homeric heroes ? 
Ah, to vanish in mist upon your foreheads, 
Melt in airiest films of vapour round you, 
Dwell unseen unattended at your hearth-stone. 
If I whelmed in the mist and murk of illness. 
If I clogged with the pains and pangs of ages, 
Worn and torn into shreds by hopes that wither. 
Could but gain for a guerdon and recapture 
Rhythms felt by the soul in antenatal 
Hours seonian orbed with ancient music ! 
These I, gazing on you, have half remembered ; 
These you, thoughtless and all untuned to rapture. 
Bear in beautiful eyes, ye contadini. 
Waft in snatches of songs upon the hill-sides. 
Breathe through stateliest Hmbs, ye moving statues ! 



l8o IN ITALY, 



FAREWELL TO TUSCANY. 

We pass ; but they remain. 

What though our feet upon this mountain stair 

Be upward, backward bent 

Beneath the cold unpitying firmament, 

With stress and strain ; 

Yet all that was so passing fair, 

We leave behind us in the warm transparent air. 

We carry memories too : 

Sad phantoms of the days we reckoned dear ; 

Strong tyrannous desires,- 

With hands that cling and eyes whose tears are fires : 

The wine is new 

Still on our lips of autumn here, 

Which we too soon shall change for Alpine winter drear. 

Florence lies far behind ; 

Her grave grey palace-fronts, her lily towers j 

The curves of Arno bright 

With star-set lamps that tremble in the night ; 

Her wild west wind, 

That shook those lightning-smitten showers 

And flakes of sunbeams on the pale October flowers. 

How far the dancing waves 

Of Spezia, where the silvered olives sleep. 



FAREWELL TO TUSCANY. l8l 

And flower-sprent myrtle sprays 

Sweeten the sunny air by silent bays ! 

The calm sea laves 

Those crags — but not for us — and deep 

Dreams on the samphire cliffs and stairs of marble steep. 

Ah me ! No more for us 

Spreads the clear world-wide Tuscan land divine ; 

Fold over billowy fold 

Of fertile vale and tower-set mountain old, 

Innumerous 

As crowds of crested waves that shine 

In sun and shadow on the spaceless ocean brine. 

Soul-full we said Farewell ! 

What time those tears from flying storms were cast 

O'er Thrasymene and thee, . 

Loveliest of hills whatever hills may be 

Loved for the spell 

Of names that in the memory last, 

And with strange sweetness Hnk our present to the past ! 

Mont' Amiata, thou 

Shalt take the envoy of this sorrow-song ! 

For thou still gazest down 

On Chiusi, and Siena's marble crown, 

The bare hill-brow 

Where gleams Cortona, and the strong 

Light of the lands I love, the lands for which I long. 



1 82 IN ITALY. 



IN VAL BREGAGLIA. 

'Tis the death of the year ; a fretful wind 

Sways the willow wands to and fro ; 
For the grey green olives are left behind, 

And we climb to the land, of frost and snow. 

The leaves on the chestnut boughs are brown, 
Dry with summer and drenched with rain, 

And the walnut leaves come tumbling down 
On the grass that cannot revive again. 

The streams are swollen, livid of hue ; 

Plague has smitten the speckled vines : 
For the grapes are gathered, and mouldy blue 

Covers the stake where the tendril twines. 

It rains in gusts, and the stealthy snow 

Soaks yon summit above the larch j 
The world was warmer with hope, I know, 

When we crossed these gates of the Alps in March. 

Here and there on the gaunt grey stones 

Creepers, crimson with early cold. 
Glare like tinsel among dead bones 

Of kings that rot in their tombs of gold. 



IN VAL BREGAGLIA. 183 

Onward and upward, stair by stair, 

Toiling drowsily, slow but sure, 
By the drizzling rocks in the dismal air. 

We fix our face like a flint and endure. 

Winter has six months where we dwell, 

Snow-drifts cover us, wrap us round j 
To sleep and to slumber is very well, 

But we long for sight and we pine for sound. 

Dream then ! Life is nought but a dream ! 

Learn oblivion, and cease to think 
Of the midnight lamps that flicker and gleam 

By the bridges there on the Arno's brink. 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

Of the worst woe that on Bologna fell 
Stirring the bitter seeds of hate and hell, 
This was the cause. The Lambertazzi fed 
Fierce feud with that great house whose mighty head 
Was Giano Gieremei ; square and street 
Clanked with their horses' hooves and mailed feet, 
And o'er the lowly city roofs there rose 
Tower against tower, the haunt of jealous foes, 
Who glared with hungry eyes from grates of steel. 
And ground live curses from their iron heel j 
Nor, though each sought pretence and cause of fight. 
For all their venomous hate and wordy spite, 
Had the feud blossomed into public war. 
But lingered yet upon the dubious bar 
Of private strife ; till Giano 's only son. 
Young Boniface, than whom no fairer one 
Moved hearts of maidens in the month of May, 
Beheld Imelda, daughter of the grey 
Orlando Lambertazzi. How they met. 
Or what deep spell in sundered bosoms set 

187 



1 88 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZL 

Fair Love, I know not ; for my story saith 
This only, that their Love was strong as Death, 
Growing three winters with their growth till blight 
Fell on the blossoms of their bridal night. 



On May day in the Marches Amorous 

Which He outside Bologna, from her house 

Built o'er the city wall, Imelda spied 

Boniface arrayed in knightly splendour ride 

Through the armed lists : upon his glittering crest 

Sat valour plumed, the while with lance in rest 

Atilt he ran ; and one man praised his steed. 

And one his spear, and one his wondrous speed ; 

Yea, and some spake of skill or strength of limb, — 

Though, sooth to say, the strength that dwelt in him 

Lay not in thews or sinews, and his skill 

Was simple ; but his eyes had drunk their fill 

Of grey eyes parted from him, and he moved 

Within the airy sphere of her he loved ; 

Whence he took wondrous puissance, and became 

Less like a man that breathes, than like a flame 

That pierceth where it hsteth, and doth run 

With fiercer might than aught beneath the sun. 

So at the tourney's ending heralds cried : 

' A Gieremei ; Boniface doth ride 

Lord of the lists ! nor is there any might 

Of man or steed to match with his in fight ! ' 

The youth unclasped his visor from the chin, 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 189 

Loosened the straps of steel to let light in, 

And shook his curls free — sunny- warm and brown 

Over his throat of mail they tumbled down ; 

Then in the level sunlight gleaming red, 

He raised the splendour of his princely head : 

Love shone upon his cheek, Love in his eyes 

Danced, as he reined his steed to take the prize 

The May-queen reached him, bowed, and thundered on, 

Through list and tent and gilt pavilion. 

Unto Imelda's dwelling. There I ween 

He stayed awhile, and on his brow serene 

Might men have read this message : ' 'Tis for thee 

I bear the guerdon of my victory ; 

This scarf is thine, not hers who gave it me ! ' 

Yea, though they durst not speak, lest men should guess 

The secret of their love, yet none the less 

Heart sang to heart, and depth to depth within 

Their sundered souls cried loud above the din 

Of shouting crowds — as through the dissonant noise 

Confused of mad waves shrills a human voice. 

Then Boniface rode on, and well might men 

Swear that he wore a glory round him then, 

More like a saint than like a simple man — 

Julian or Michael or Sebastian. 



Story saith not how thenceforth hour by hour 
Of Love the wild intoxicating flower 



1 90 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

Budded and blossomed and grew ripe and shed 
Its passionate petals upon youth and maid. 
May nights, May mornings, lilied lawns that drank 
Dews honey-fragrant, stars that rose and sank, 
With moonlight and shrill birds among the showers 
Of tremulous cream-white acacia flowers. 
Whispers and stolen words and hurried sighs, 
And kisses sweet as dreams of Paradise, 
Ta'en by damned souls asleep who wake to see 
Hell round them red with restless agony, — 
These were the ways whereby at length they came 
To dream of life as of a fitful flame, 
Whereof the burning and the beam are fair 
Though whirlwinds wave around in the dim air. 
Wherefore of fear they took no heed, and grew 
Hourly of aught that might their bliss undo 
Less thoughtful ; but of all that might increase 
The joy they had, and plenitude of peace. 
Desire more dear and longing more intense 
Devoured their hearts with blissful vehemence. 
So that in Love's audacity at length 
They trusted blindly to the single strength 
Of joy, that on the lover's shoulder lays 
Wings like the wings of eagles, and doth raise 
His heart aloft to venture and endure. 
Mid swords and flames bearing a soul secure. 
At last when many days and nights gone by 
Had cradled fear in frail tranquillity. 
And love grew sore between them, and desire 



I MELD A LAMBERTAZZI. I9I 

Withered their young souls with a breath of fire, 
And each toward each yearned with strong thirst to be 
Wedded in soul and flesh unchangeably, 
Smiling they sware that not another day 
Should dawn within the womb of flowery May, 
Ere of love's well the deepest draught they drew, 
And of love's lore the truest truth they knew. 
Therefore at night, not long past twilight time, 
Was Boniface the trellised wall to climb 
Beneath Imelda's window, and — ah then. 
Hidden away from envious eyes of men, 
Having no thought of what might be, to take 
The blossoms of the hours for sweet Love's sake. 



He came : he clomb : the while upon her spray 
Quivering the wild-voiced nightingale of May 
Made music, nor stayed aught of her shrill cry. 
For all that up the vine-boughs eagerly 
Love-led he flew — so swift as swallow's flight 
The feet that bore him to his heart's delight. 
But one there was beneath, blear-eyed and gray. 
Squatting within the cypress shade that lay 
O'er lilies on the fair grass-plat below 
Imelda's window : — cold as midnight snow. 
With shrunken thews and withered eyes that strain 
On death to rid them of their life-long pain, 
Hungry and hating all, this woman was : 



192 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

A hag from whom the glad folk, as they pass, 
Turn with unreckoned loathing, while strange fear 
Curdles their veins despite the blooming year. 
She saw : and forasmuch no pain was worse 
Than sight of joy that never might be hers. 
And since she knew within that window gay 
With flowers that blossom in the birth of May, 
What rose of womanhood made misery seem 
The idle shadow of an empty dream 
To him who scaled so nimbly with such glee 
The friendly vine-boughs of the balcony, — 
How could she choose but rising with frore fire 
In palsied limbs, the graves of dead desire. 
Thank Hell who sent her thus midmost the curse 
Of life that nothing knew twixt bad or worse, 
Heart-sweet accomplishment of yearning hate 
And recompense for waste years desolate ? 
Chuckling from shade to shade she softly stole. 
And bent her ear beneath the vine-tree bole, 
If haply from the window some love-word 
Might mingle with the wild song of the bird. 
A little laugh she heard, and ' Art thou here ? 
Oh, overbold ! ' Nor more ; for now the cheer 
Those lovers made needed not words, but bhss 
Seemed blent and buried in a wilderness 
Soul-full of kisses. Then the witch flung wide 
Her shrivelled arms, and dropped no tears, but cried 
A low short cry : whereat the nightingale 
Stilled on his spray, and therewithal the pale 



I MELD A LAMBERTAZZI. 1 93 

Face of the moon forth gliding looked upon 
A writhen face with hate and anguish wan. — 
Why tell of pain and envy, and the rage 
That trembles in the nerveless breast of age ? 
The path lay plain before her : forth sh^ went, 
Her weak feet steadied with a fixed intent, 
And told her tale, and sowed the seed whereof 
Sprang hell-fierce flowers of strength to stifle love. 



It was a little room wherein the twain 

Drank deep of bliss they ne'er should drink again. 

Latticed with fretwork of frail tracery. 

The upper casement dimmed the lucid sky 

With violet, gules, and gold, and chrysopras. 

Wherethrough pale stars in vain would peer and pass ; 

But all below was open wide, and white 

Into the chamber streamed the free moonlight ; 

So that the arras-work, more faint and grey 

With ghostly shapes than in the noon of day, 

Showed Lancelot's love and Galahad and her 

Who sold her soul for joy. Queen Guinever \ 

And in an angle of the wall there spread 

Stainless with broidered blooms the maiden's bed. 

Thereby those lovers communed, and all bliss 

The world might yield seemed hollow matched with this. 

' O love ! ' she cried mid kisses, ' if to-night 

Death touched my flower of hfe with his keen blight, 



194 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

Thus would I choose to die, thus clasping thee 

To pass into that cold uncertainty ! 

For this were peace ; nor would I dread at all 

The ways unknown where icy shadows fall, 

If I might take "at least this touch of thee 

And thy clasped palm, nor lose all memory 

Of that sweet strength which from my soul hath banned 

What fear soe'er across my path should stand.' 

And laughing he : ' O love, my love, of Death 

What sayst thou, sweetest ? Sure he tarrieth 

Far off on shores forgotten j nought I know 

Of him or his, save that the short nights go 

More softly when the velvet wings of sleep. 

His brother, fold our souls in slumber deep.' 

And she again : ^ Thus heart to heart, and breast 

In bliss eternal on broad bosom pressed, 

And lip with hp, and voice with voice, and breath 

With deep breath mingling, well may cast out Death ; 

For how can henceforth aught between us come, 

Where in our close embrace no little room 

Is left for thought to sunder us or be 

A rift within our souls' felicity ? ' 

What said they who shall sing, or tell the tales. 

Concordant with the love-lorn nightingale's, 

They told each other of sure bliss afar 

In lands which they would fly to, where the bar 

Of hate ancestral hke thin gossamer 

Should fail from out their heavens and leave love clear ? 

Long murmured they and whispered ; word by word 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 1 95 

Was answered by the sleepless song that stirred 
Within the tliick acacia bowers, and faint 
About their foreheads flew the flowery scent. 



Meanwhile the brothers of Imelda, three 

Stout knights with hearts as rough as the rude sea, 

I^istened within their hall to what the crone 

Told them ; and much they thought and spake thereon, 

Till in their souls the sword of hate was strong : 

Yet waited they, thinking that sleep ere long 

Would fall on Boniface within the bed 

Of her, no more their sister. So night sped. 



And now the moon was sinking, and the twain 
Had drunk the bhss they ne'er should drink again : 
And sleep that follows on the paths of joy. 
Had spread his silken wings o'er maid and boy. 
Inarmed they slumbered ; young-eyed stars of May 
Across the narrow window gliding grey, 
Gazed on their tranquil beauty : golden hair 
Limb-long, with brown curls blending, wove a snare 
Wherein both souls were prisoned, and their sighs 
Breathed even in dreams of love that satisfies. 
Then to the lattice, by the selfsame way 
By which that lover in the death of day 



iq6 imelda lambertazzi. 

Love-led had mounted, came the brothers three, 

Led by no love but hate and treachery. 

Silent and stealthy, in sheathed mail, they clomb. 

And one by one within the little room 

Alighted ; nor for all that peril near. 

Fell there the shadow of a coming fear 

Across Imelda's dreaming heart, but deep 

And still she breathed within the gates of sleep. 

Nor Boniface beside her dreaming knew 

By any shuddering of the soul or dew 

Of horror on chilled brows, how gaunt and grim 

Were those fierce hungry eyes that glared on him. 

But as they sighed and smiled, the tremulous star 

Of morn uprising from the Eastern bar 

Of day's birth, shed dim light on them and made 

More pure the peace wherein their souls were laid. — 

Then spake the eldest brother : ' Shall we slay 

A man's soul in the bloom and birth of May ? 

He is too fair ; shall we not learn at length 

That Love is stronger than Hate's strongest strength? ' 

Then spake the second : ^ If to kill were wise, 

'Twere wiser surely thus to take the prize. 

And keep my lady's minion for a pledge. 

Nor blunt with innocent blood the blameless edge 

Of our good cause : for lo ! this Boniface 

Hath with the common folk such store of grace, 

That slaying him we slay whate'er of right 

Sustains us fearless in the people's sight.' 

* Peace ! ' spake the youngest : and this single word. 



I MELD A LAMBERTAZZI. 1 97 

Between set lips and clenched teeth hissing, stirred 

The sanctity of silence like a snake 

That coils scarce seen within the quivering brake. 

Then from his broidered belt with sudden hand 

He drew an ivory-sheathed bright-burnished brand, 

Whereof the hilt was one huge agate wrought 

Into shapes terrible surpassing thought ; 

Yea, and the blade envenomed had drunk dew 

Distilled from Upas flowers and Indian yew. 

This without further sign or word he drave 

Into the sleeping man : — one groan he gave, 

And from Imelda turned his head, and lay 

Heavy and still beneath the twilight grey : 

Nor did she wake, but turned with him, and laid 

Her face upon his breast, and smiled, and said 

In sleep fond inarticulate few words. 

Like drowsy twitterings of half-wakened birds. 

Then from the smitten corpse those brothers three 

Withdrew the poisoned sword, and silently, 

E'en as they came, with hungry hate assuaged. 

Went forth ; while dawn her winning battle waged 

With darkness, and aloft the splendour flew 

Of day into the cold irradiate blue. 



Then, neath the lattice on the garden green 
A little page, the tulip rows between. 
Went singing for mere joy to think that day 



198 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

Had bloomed once more within the womb of May : 
Carols he sang and snatches of old song, 
Wherein the airy thoughts of music throng ; 
Nor knew he well whereof he sang, but glee 
Flooded his soul, and life was melody : — 

When thou wert born, O beaming star ! 

Three holy angels flew to earth j 

And three kings from the east afar 

Brought gold and jewels of great worth ; 

Three eagles on wings light as air 

Bore the news East and West and North ; 

O jewel fair, O jewel rare, 

So glad was heaven to greet thy birth ! 

Thus sang he ; and his voice that rose and shrilled 

Upon the ending of the stanza, thrilled 

Imelda's ear ; so that her honeyed slumber, 

Like rose-leaves over-bloomed, which dews encumber, 

Or faint winds fret, fluttered and fell apart, 

And in the golden sunlight her glad heart 

Throbbed with quick life beneath her bosom's snow : 

' Up, Boniface ! my lover ! dost thou know 

That night is o'er, and men begin to tread , 

The city ways : I fear me day hath sped 

Now a full hour : hearest thou not ? Ah me ! 

Wilt thou not wake ? ' — Then seemed it suddenly 

As though some sleep deeper than dreams were dull 

On his closed lids and pale cheeks beautiful. — 



I MELD A LAMBERTAZZI. 1 99 

She chafed his hands j their palms were cold as death : 
His mouth she kissed ; no warm and delicate breath 
Flew forth to greet her, and no smile delayed 
Responsive kisses on those lips like lead. — 
Breathless she rose, silent, ash-pale, her hair 
Rippling around her moon-white shoulders fair : 
With firm set teeth, with stony eyes she stood ; 
And now she leaned, and now she knelt ; for blood, 
Black, stealthy, slowly soaking, oozed and ran 
■ Adown the marble bosom of the man. — 
Then from his breast the linen shred by shred 
She tore, and on his side and shoulder dead 
She bent her ear and listened ; tense and shrill 
Beat her own heart, like crickets in the still 
Of summer eves that madden j but no sob 
Of life that lingered, nay, no little throb 
Of fluttering pulses whispered hope, for he 
Lay stiff in death's insensibility. — 

Then first she groaned : yea, then she shrieked ; and mad 
With some fierce wish that made her spirit glad, 
She fell upon her lord ; and first his mouth 
She kissed as bees, what time the rainy South 
Woos violet buds, kiss meadow flowers in May, 
As though they ne'er might leave them ; then she lay 
Limb-length beside him, with her arms enwreathed 
His heavy waist, and pressed his wound, and breathed 
Warm life upon its gory lips, and drank 
The dews of Death thenceforth that dripped and sank. — 
Ah me ! from those now quenched wells within 



200 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

The frozen veins what hope had she to win 

Fresh youth — or did she dream that she might bring 

The breath back to his breast by whispering ? — 

Nay, not so : rather think that she was ware 

How that the poison lurked and hngered there ; 

Yea, when with wild delirious haste she quaffed 

That cup of blood, and stayed her lips, and laughed, 

Then drank again, then laid her face down low 

Beside her lord and waited, well I know 

That she on Death was calling : ' Gentle Death, 

For whom my widowed spirit wearieth, 

Come quickly, dear, delicious Death, and bring 

Solace eternal for my sorrowing ! ' 

Nor was Death far, or heavy-eared, or slow 

To send the last kind unconvulsive throe. 

Whereby her spirit passed and was at rest 

In the third sphere with him she loved the best. 



So when three hours were sped, and now the sun 
High o'er the city towers in splendour shone, 
Those brothers conscious of the deed of sin 
Chafed in their palace hall, seeking to win 
Assurance from conjecture, marvelling how 
Imelda in her bower were weeping now ; 
And much they feared to drag the comely dead 
Forth to the square, or lay that golden head 
Before the eyes of all their foes and all 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZL^ 201 

The folk who loved him in his father's hall. 

Then while they sat and spake and pondered sore, 

Shrilling through chamber-roof and corridor 

A shriek arose, and feet confused were heard 

With arms" that clashed, and many a windy word. 

Tossed on the crests of tumult, caught their ears 

In waifs and strays : ' Imelda ! — Nay, she stirs ! — 

I say she stirs not — and slain Boniface ! — 

Dead like a dog for all his golden grace — 

Nay, fellow, help ! — What ho ! go call the Lords ! 

Here by my faith is need for spears and swords ! ' 

So shrilled torn voices : then the tramp of feet 

Swifter and louder knelled ; the arrowy sleet 

Of vain complaint and querulous surprise 

Surged closer ; then before their wolfish eyes — 

The door flung open and the palace hall 

Flooded with frantic men from wall to wall — 

Staggered the bearers of the piteous dead. 

They to the dais came, and stood, and laid 

Before his foes not Boniface alone, 

But pale Imelda — pale with cold arms thrown 

Still round her lover's waist, and Hps where yet 

The poison of the flower of Death was set. — 

O ruddy mouth ! O rose with kisses red ! 

O golden hair o'er breast and shoulder shed, 

Like sunbright showers on snow ere day be dead ! — 

Nor space was now for question or debate : 

Already rumour from the palace gate 

Flew fire-mouthed through the city. — ' Part the dead ! ' 



202 I MELD A LAMBERTAZZI. 

Cried Nino Lambertazzi : — so they spread 
Mantles of silk and rare brocades, with gems 
Encased in gold upon their broidered hems, 
Around Imelda ; and for Boniface 
They made a bier and bore him from the place 
Breast- downward, covered with thick sable palls ; 
Nor did they take him to his father's halls, 
But laid him in St. Dominic where slept 
The Gieremei in their marble crypt. 



There priests received the corpse, and trembling cried 

^ This man, though dead, the city will divide.' 

Then did those holy men search limb by limb 

To see if haply they might succour him ; 

And washed his wound that was so thin and slight, 

And raised him in the merry morning light. 

High on a bier 'twixt burning line and line 

Of tapers flickering in the hot sunshine. 

Naked his breast was that all eyes might see 

Those livid lips above his heart, and be 

Stirred to just wrath and righteous enmity. 

Bare was his face and throat ; rebellious hair 

Nut-brown above his forehead clustered fair ; 

That men might seem to hear his mute mouth cry 

On bloody vengeance from the indignant sky. 

Morn wore to noon and noon to eve, while thick 

Through all the aisles of stern St. Dominic 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 203 

The people muttering gathered, and the kin 

Of Gieremei mid the hollow din 

Hung like a thunder-cloud apart j and barred 

In steel above them Giano towered. His hard 

Keen features from the visor gleamed like steel, 

While on the calm cold corpse he gazed — one heel 

Firm on the marble floor, the other stayed 

Against the planks whereon the bier was laid. 

Then, as the twilight thickened, fiery flared 

On his set face the torchlight, glowed and glared 

About his hauberk, kifidled flames of hell 

Within his tearless eyes and terrible j — 

So that men whispered that some dreadful thing 

The night or morrow's light would surely bring. 



This while Imelda like an Eastern queen, 
With velvet robes and jewels well beseen, 
Her fair Hds closed as if in sleep, her hair 
With silken threads and pearl embroideries rare 
Wrought by tirewomen, lay in solemn state 
Amid the Lambertazzi. Their swollen hate 
Ceased not, but grew and gathered, now that chance 
Hath burst the bonds of hollow sufferance. 
Much clamoured they of vengeance ; yea they spake 
Aloud of wrong, and sware for honour's sake 
To flesh keen swords on kith and kin of him, 
Who with his philtres, charms, and teraphim 



204 IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 

Had sown strange longing and desire uriblest 
In the pure garden of the maiden's breast. — 
Thus Hate blaspheming Love's unblemished bliss, 
Warped the fair truth to foul lies meaningless. 

There too night came. With torches burning red 
And sable stoles o'er helm and cuirass spread, 
The Larabertazzi raised the bier, and through 
The city streets went chanting ; honey-dew 
Dropped from spring-flowers and roses leaning o'er 
Grey garden-walls of convents, while they bore 
That marble maid with orient jewels bright 
And silken splendour in the fierce torchlight : — 

crimson flames that turned the faint stars dim ! — 
While long-resounding psalm and funeral hymn 
From those deep-chested iron-throated men 
Growled like hoarse thunder-rolls above the din 

Of spurs on pavement clanking and clashed mail. — 

1 ween that night the love-lorn nightingale 
Quaked voiceless. — Thus amid the surge and roar 
Of Misereres and bells tolling o'er 

The troubled city, the armed mourners came 
So San Petronia. Robed in sullen flame 
The murky aisles and arches, row by row. 
Disclosed above them, as with hushed steps slow 
Into the choir they marched, and mid the crowd 
Of praying priests set the bier down, and bowed 
Their brows revengeful. Then the mass on high 
With book and bell was raised religiously — 



IMELDA LAMBERTAZZI. 205 

So that it grew the Body of Very God, 

Who took our flesh and cross-crowned Calvary trod \ 

And on that Body twixt the gloom and glare 

The kith and kin of slain Imelda sware 

N.O second night should come, but blood should be 

Spilled for her innocent sake abundantly. 

Then to the crypted vault, the while priests sung, 

And censers fraught with spice in cadence swung. 

She who so loved that Love was strong as Death, 

Sank slowly, as the sun that minisheth 

His might at fall of eve, through ocean's floor 

Sinks j and her maiden sweetness never more 

Was seen by man or woman ; but they bore. 

Who watched her sinking thus from glare to gloom, 

The sad sweet memory with them to the tomb. 



Thus was Imelda buried ; and that night 
Bologna rang through all her streets with might 
Of armed men ; and for days and weeks the fray 
Stayed not but swelled ; and years thereafter May 
Returning saw new strife with old strife blent 
In Hefl-deep Heaven-wide interminglement. — 
Wherefore my story well saith that the grace 
Of fair Imelda and young Boniface 
Wrought for their city wrong and sore distress. 



LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



PART 11. 



FROM FRIEND TO FRIEND. 

Dear friend, I know not if such days and nights 
Of fervent comradeship as we have spent, 
Or if twin minds with equal ardour bent 
To search the world's unspeakable delights, 

Or if long hours passed on Parnassian heights 
Together in rapt interminglement 
Of heart with heart on thought subHme intent. 
Or if the spark of heaven-born fire that lights 

Love in both breasts from boyhood, thus have wrought 
Our spirits to communion ; but I swear 
That neither chance nor change nor time nor aught 

That makes the future of our lives less fair, 

Shall sunder us who once have breathed this air 
Of soul-commingling friendship passion-fraught. 

209 



2IO LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



AN UNDERTONE, 

If ye will raise me to the poet's throne, 

And place me mid the minstrels in that shrine 

Which hath no limit save the infinite zone 
Of the sphered ether calm and crystalline, 
Set on my brow no crown of stars, but twine 

Spring's palest leaves and flowers, and let me be 

Last and least felt of all that company. 

Yea, seated on the lowest step of all. 

Like some still singing child of Giambellin, 

For whom the rays of living gold that fall 

On saints and smiling babe and heavenly queen. 
Are tempered into twilight, let me lean 

My forehead on my hand, and muse, and stay 

Lost in the lustre of their quenchless day. 

Yet when we tire of greatness, when our eyes 
Ache with the painter's vision, it may chance 

That in the pictured melodist there lies 

Some virtue to refresh our heart, some glance 
From his mute musing forehead may entrance 

The soul o'er-burdened with the stately thought 

Which in those awful forms august is wrought. 



AN UNDERTONE. 211 

So on my singing, when your spirits tire 

Of Dante's rapture, or your thrilling ear 
Aches with the ecstasies of Milton's choir, 

Rest some brief minute ; leave those heavens, and hear 

The little earthly music, faint yet clear ; 
I shall be blest, and ye shall bear away 
Some frailest echo of my whispered lay. 

And ye shall think of me perchance, when love 
Swells your strong hearts with life's deliciousness j 

Yea, from the gloom my soul shall lean and move 
Toward you, and my lips your mouth shall press, 
And you shall feel my earnest eyes, and bless 

The solitary singer who was fain 

To weave weak rhymes that soothe and stir your pain. 

Do not forget me ! In the laurelled crowd 

That pace Fame's temple, I shall not be found ; 

Nor shall my quivering voice of song be loud 
Mid the rapt harmonies that rise and sound 
The lofty roof and ringing domes around ; 

But in the interval one note that's mine 

May make the sacred silence more divine. 



212 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 



IN WANDERSTUNDEN GESCBRIEBEN. 

For those who fain would weep 

Music shall summon sleep : 

On dull watch-wasted eyes 

Clear morning beams arise : 

And night at length is sweet 

To travel-weary feet : 

But for the soul that hath no hope 

Heavenward ascending summits slope, 

And downward deep as Hell 

Yawn gulfs immeasurable j 

Soaring or sinking, there is nought 

But Death to stay the stress of thought. 



THE BIRTH OF A STAR. 

Within the voiceless confines of the void, 

Where worlds begin to breathe, and Uriel spheres 
The formless fruitage of chaotic years 

Into fixed orbs that shall not be destroyed, 

There dwells a planet. On the ocean buoyed 
Of ever-during darkness, from her peers 
Sundered, and ringed around with calm, she hears 

The symphony of stars, and unemployed 



THE BIRTH OF A STAR. 21 3 

Sleeps on her shadow : till the Sun that fills 

Heaven's conclave, with a swift and sudden ray 
Through all her slumbering rondure shooting, thrills 

The bulk that indolently lifeless lay ; 
Then stung with quickening impulse toward the rills 
Of light she rushes to roll on for aye. 



THE DOOM OF THE SLOTHFUL, 

When through the dolorous city of damned souls 
The Florentine with Virgil took his way, 

A dismal march they passed, whose fetid shoals 
Held sinners by the myriad. Swollen and grey, 
Like worms that fester in the foul decay 

Of sweltering carrion, these bad spirits sank 

Chin-deep in stagnant slime and ooze that stank. 

Year after year for ever — year by year. 
Through billions of the centuries that lie 

Like specks of dust upon the dateless sphere 
Of heaven's eternity, they cankering sigh 
Between the black waves and the starless sky ; 

And daily dying have no hope to gain 

By death or change or respite of their pain. 

What was their crime ? you ask. Nay, listen : * We 
Were sullen-sad what time we drank the light 



214 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

And delicate air, that all day daintily 

Is cheered by sunshine ; for we bore black night 
And murky smoke of sloth, in God's despite, 
Within our barren souls, by discontent 
From joy of all fair tilings and wliolesome pent : 

Therefore in this low Hell from jocund sight 
And sound He bans us ; and as there we grew 

Pallid with idleness, so here a blight 
Perpetual rots with slow-corroding dew 
Our poisonous carcase, and a livid hue 

Corpse-like o'erspreads these sodden limbs that take 

And yield corruption to the loathly lake.' 



ECHOES. 

From Ennius. 

Hail, poet, who for mortal men dost pour 

Strong wine of words that burn and sense that sears, 

Drawn from thy bleeding bosom's fiery core, 
And tempered with the bitter fount of tears. 

From Cleanthes. 

Lead thou me, God, Law, Reason, Duty, Life ; 

All names for thee alike are vain and hollow : 
Lead me, for I will follow without strife. 

Or if I strive, still must I blindly follow. 



ECHOES. 215 

From Goethe. 

That nought belongs to me I know- 
Save thoughts that never cease to flow 

From founts that cannot perish, 
And every fleeting shape of bliss 
That kindly fortune lets me kiss 

And in my bosom cherish. 

From Heine. 

Death is the cool dew-dropping night, 

Life is the long day's blinding heat ; 

Mine eyelids droop, to sleep were sweet, 
The long long day hath tired me quite. 
Over my bed a linden springs ; 

There sits the nightingale of May : 

She sings of only love alway ; 
In dreams I hear the song she sings. 



YEARNINGS AFTER THE DESERT 

I WILL arise and go 
Into the desert where no waters flow. 

There have I dwelt 

Ere now, and felt 
The pulses of my mother sad and low. 



2l6 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Ohcc more with woven camel's hair 

Will I array my loins, and bare 

My forehead to the whispering night air. 

My food shall be 

Locusts and honey of the wandering bee. 

Lo, even as I speak, 

The walls around me break ! 

Immeasurable sands arise : 

The night of stars above the pathless plain 

Greets yet again 

With rapture and with radiance my accustomed eyes. 

Who am I that so long 

In Gadara I tarried? 
Who am I that the song 

To sweet flutes married 
Of Meleager should have lured me. 
And on sleepy shores immured me ? 

'Mid the laurels of Daphne I found 

The feet of my love : 
The woods of Orontes, around, 

Beneath and above, 
Were breathing with blossom and singing with sound. 

But now, O my mother, I come 

Back to thee, to thy home : 

To the breasts that have nursed me I turn, 

For the milk of thy bosom I yearn. 



YEARNINGS AFTER THE DESERT. 21 J 

Why should I so long have listened to the throbbing of 

that breast, 
To that little wrist and forehead fluttering in a soft 

unrest, 
When my mother's mighty pulses, on the desert, in the 

sky, 
Timed their strong and firm vibrations to the cosmic 

harmony ? 
O my mother ! lo, I leave her, leave my love, and fly to 

thee : 
O my mother ! wilt thou bless me as of old thou 

blessed'st me ? 

Yet how shall I buy from the past 

Oblivion of bhss ? 
And how on my soul shall be cast 

No dream of her kiss ? 

Shall I murder the myriads of dreams — 
The fountain that streams 
With endless desire, 
. Shall I quench it and quell 
The strength of the fire. 
The fury of HeU? 

No, child ! upon the desert, when I pace 

That sandy waste, 
The burning blossom of thy longed-for face 

Shall make me taste 
Of grief the very bitterness and fierce disgrace. 



2l8 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Farewell ; I go. 
Thou tarriest. Yea, farewell ! 

Yet even so 
'Tis well. Yea, fare thee well ! 



THE CAMERA OBSCURA. 

Inside the skull the wakeful brain, 
Attuned at birth to joy and pain, 
Dwells for a lifetime ; even as one 
Who in a closed tower sees the sun 
Cast faint-hued shadows, dim or clear, 
Upon the darkened disc : now near, 
Now far, they flit j while he, within. 
Surveys the world he may not win : 
Whate'er he sees, he notes ; for nought 
Escapes the net of living thought ; 
And what he notes, he tells again 
To last and build the brains of men. 
Shades are we ; and of shades we weave 
A trifling pleasant make-believe ; 
Then pass into the shadowy night, 
Where formless shades blindfold the light. 



PERSONALITY. 219 



PERSONALITY, 

I. 

I KNOW not what I am. — Oh dreadful thought ! — 
Nor know I what my fellow-creatures are : 
Between me and the world without, a bar 
Impalpable of adamant is wrought. 

Each self, from its own self concealed, is caught 
Thus in a cage of sense, sequestered far 
From comradeship, calhng as calleth star 
To star across blank intermediate nought. 

His own self no man sees, and none hath seen 

His brother's self. Nay, lovers, though they sigh 
' There is no room for ought to come between 

' Our blended souls in this feUcity,' 

Starting from sleep, shall find a double screen 

Built 'twixt two sundered selves — and both must die. 

II. 

Yea, both shall carry with them to the void 

Without, the void more terrible within. 

Tormented haply by the smart of sin. 

And cursing what their wilful sense enjoyed. 
Yet were they free to take or to avoid? 

Who knows ! — Amid the dull chaotic din 



220 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Of wrangling schools which argument can win 
Conviction, when blind faith hath been destroyed ? 

Freedom or servitude ? — So fooled is man 
By blind self-ignorance, he cannot say 
If will alone beneath heaven's azure span 

Its self-determined impulses obey ; 

Or if each impulse, wild as wind at play, 
Be but a cog-wheel in the cosmic plan. 



THE WILL. 



Blame not the times in which we live, 
Nor Fortune frail and fugitive j 
Blame not thy parents, nor the rule 
Of vice or wrong once learned at school ; 
But blame thyself, O man ! 

Although both heaven and earth combined 
To mould thy flesh and form thy mind. 
Though every thought, word, action, will. 
Was framed by powers beyond thee, still 
Thou art thyself, O man ! 

And self to take or leave is free, 
FeeHng its own sufficiency : 
In spite of science, spite of fate. 
The judge within thee soon or late 

Will blame but thee, O man ! 



ANTINOMANISM. 221 

Say not, ' I would, but could not — He 
' Should bear the blame, who fashioned me — 
' Call you mere change of motive choice ? ' — 
Scorning such pleas, the inner voice 

Cries, ' Thine the deed, O man ! ' 



ANTINOMIANISM. 

O, LET me love my love and reason not ! 
Why bruise the flower before the fruit is set? 
Why prune the bough while the green juices yet 
Are shooting heavenward into leaf and knot ? 
What if the fruit be deadly? Let it be : 
It is not thine, but His who planted thee. 
Nay, leave the flower to bloom, the rod to rise, 
The fruit to form and ripen in the skies. 
Warmed with the Hght of God's unwearymg eyes. 

Be it enough for thee that thou dost shun 

No bhght He sends thee : when the whirlwinds bend 

And break thy boughs, and all thy blossoms rend, 

Be patient : should the fierce life-draining sun 

Strike heavy on thee, bear to feel thy bloom 

Shrivelled : or in the damp unfruitful gloom 

Show thy green leaves, and wait. The storms may rave ; 

Thy stem may sink fire-splintered ; yet be brave ; 

What He hath sown and planted. He shah save. 



222 LYRICS OP LIFE AND ART. 

BE ATI ILLI. 

Blest is the man whose heart and hands are pure ! 
He hath no sickness that he shall not cure, 
No sorrow that he may not well endure : 
His feet are steadfast and his hope is sure. 

Oh, blest is he who ne'er hath sold his soul, 
Whose will is perfect, and whose word is whole, 
Who hath not paid to common sense the toll 
Of self-disgrace, nor owned the world's control ! 

Through clouds and shadows of the darkest night 
He will not lose a glimmering of the light, 
Nor, though the sun of day be shrouded quite. 
Swerve from the narrow patli to left or right. 



LEBENS PHILOSOPBIE. 

If we were but free to wander 
Light as mountain cloud or air ; 

If our love grew firmer, fonder. 
And our youth were always fair ; 

If no thought of sin or scorning 

Marred the magic of our morning. 
If delight expelled despair : 



LEBENS PHILOSOPHIE. 223 

If the dreadful hand of duty 

Lay not on our souls like lead ; 
If the rose of joy and beauty 

Had no thorn wherewith we bled ; 
If we could the world refashion 
Closer to our own heart's passion, 

And resuscitate the dead : 

If all ifs were ours for ever ; 

If we held fate in our hand ; 
If without the least endeavour 

We could do whate'er we planned ; — 
Tell us, dear ephemeral lovers, 
Whom a little black earth covers, 

Who at Pluto's footstool stand, 

Tell us, could we bear the measure 

Of a bhss beyond our sphere ? 
Without pain would there be pleasure, 

Joy without or hope or fear? 
Youth and beauty, could they thrall us 
If old age did not appal us ? 

Could we love, if love were clear? 

Life is nought for us, frail mortals. 
But through death whereto we tend ; 

And we cross the heavenly portals 
Only when on earth we bend ; 

Only what we lose, we cherish ; 

Only pluck the flowers that perish ; 
Only what we have not, spend. 



224 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART, 

This is wisdom : learn to grasp it : 
Kiss the fickle hour that flies : 

If a joy comes, do not clasp it : 
Let the dream above thine eyes 

Wave its wings in ether sailing : 

So shalt thou dwell unbewailing 
Till the sun that sets not, rise. 



TAKE HEED AND BEWARE, 

Nay, be not covetous ! what though 
Thou hunger not for land or gold, 
High place among the great to hold, 
Or famous through the crowd to go ; 
Yet art thou covetous, I know. 

Thy greed is blent incurably 
With the soul's life ; for thou dost crave 
To bathe in Beauty, wave by wave j 
Nor wilt thou let one moment be 
Cradled in wild passivity. 

Much hast thou had ; yet more and more 
Thou fain wouldst win : the past is dust 
Beneath those fevered feet of lust 
That bear thee to a barren shore, 
Pursuing still what flies before. 



TAKE HEED AND BEWARE. 225 

Thankless thou art, like one who fed 

With meat and wine, cries Give ! Give ! Give ! 

Peevish thou art, unlearned to live, 

Lean, impotent, impatient, led 

By lights of wandering passion bred. 

Fool that thou art ! the stable health 
Begotten of a heart at rest, 
The fervours of a tranquil breast, 
Are not for thee, nor yet the wealth 
That fills the sober mind by stealth. 

Then, be not covetous ! Although 
The thirst that in thy bosoni springs 
For fair and honourable things, 
Seem Virtue's self, yet even so 
Thou art the slave of sin, I know. 



A VISTA. 



Sad heart, what will the future bring 
To happier men when we are gone? 

What golden days shall dawn for them, 
Transcending all we gaze upon? 



226 LYRICS OF LIFE AND ART. 

Will our long strife be laid at rest, 
The warfare of our blind desires 

Be merged in a perpetual peace, 
And love illume but harmless fires ? 

Shall faith released from forms that chain 
And freeze the spirit while we pray, 

Expect with calm and ardent eyes 

The morning of death's brighter day? — 

These things shall be ! A loftier race 

Than e'er the world hath known shall rise 

With flame of freedom in their souls 
And light of science in their eyes. 

They shall be pure from fraud, and know 
The names of priest and king no more ; 

For them no placeman's hand shall hold 
The balances of peace and war. 

They shall be gentle, brave, and strong. 
To spill no drop of blood, but dare 

All that may plant man's lordship firm 
On earth and fire and sea and air. 

Nation with nation, land with land, 
Inarmed shall live as comrades free j 

In every heart and brain shall throb 
The pulse of one fraternity. 



A VISTA. 227 

They shall be simple in their homes, 

And splendid in their public ways, 
FiUing the mansions of the state 

With music and with hymns of praise. 

In aisles majestic, halls of pride, 

Groves, gardens, baths, and galleries, 

Manhood and youth and age shall meet 
To grow by converse inly wise. 

Woman shall be man's mate and peer 
In all things strong and fair and good, 

Still wearing on her brows the crown 
Of sinless sacred motherhood. 

High friendship, hitherto unknown. 

Or by great poets half divined. 
Shall burn, a steadfast star, within 

The calm clear ether of the mind. 

Man shall love man with heart as pure 

And fervent as the young-eyed joys 
Who chaunt their heavenly songs before 

God's face with undiscordant noise. 

New arts shall bloom of loftier mould, 

And mightier music thrill the skies. 
And every life shall be a song, 

When all the earth is paradise. 



228 LYRICS OF^LIFE AND ART. 

There shall be no more sin, no shame, 
Though pain and passion may not die ; 

For man shall be at one with God 
In bonds of firm necessity. 

These things — they are no dream — shall be 
For happier men when we are gone : 

Those golden days for them shall dawn, 
Transcending aught we gaze upon. 



THE 

VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 



THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 

There lurks a chasm, embedded, deep and drear, 
Ringed round with jags and ragged teeth subhme 
Of heights Himalyan ; where the hills uprear 

Their hideous circuit to far snows, and climb 
By barren chff and scaur and splintered stair 
Funereal. Never since the birth of time 

Fell dew upon the valley-basement bare ; 
Nor light of day direct, nor starry spear 
Shot earthward ; but the opaque lurid air. 

Unsunned and lustreless, like a salt mere. 
Breeds exhalations. Here the craggy spines. 
Converging from dim summits, build a bier. 

Hollow and hateful, merging their sharp lines 
In dismal flatness ; and the floor is scarred 
With seams and furrows : withered roots of pines 

Grapple the fleshless granite : pits are barred 

With broken branches, age-old skeletons 

Of what were trees : and, horror ! on the hard 

231 



232 THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 

Face of the grey stone skulls that grin, and bones . 
That bleach and witlier in the windless gloom, 
Dry-rot to dust by bleak battalions. 

What hosts are these ? Hounded by what fell doom, 

Lured by what livid glamour, down the walls 

Of this foul cauldron crept they? Doth the tomb 

With plague-fierce phosphorescent festivals 

Entice the languor of their dream-led feet? 

Or sought they yon pale fruit that ripes and falls 

From boughs aerial ? Lo ! how sickly sweet 
The clammy spheres in clusters, green as dates. 
As o'er-ripe plantains blue, in the faint heat 

Fester upon that tree that glooms and grates 
Scant twilight with lean branches ! Far or nigh 
In the whole circle of the hills no mates 

Frown on its bulk mysterious ; nor doth eye 



Of dragon guard from pirate hands the fruit 
Of its death-damned Hesperides ; but dry 



4 



And doleful round the poison-fibred root 

Spring agarics with fleshly shapes obscene. 

Here never wheels the bat nor screech-owls hoot ; 

But all is silence ; and no change is seen 

Of noon or night, save when the shivering morn 

Walks forth upon the silver-cinctured screen 



THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 233 

Of unapproachable faint peaks forlorn 

Far in the zenith, or an errant star 

Haunts for awhile perchance some glimmering horn. 

All winding ways, circling from near or far, 
Dive to this centre ; and upon them all 
Lie wrecks and ruins of remorseless war 

Waged against life by one grim cannibal. — ■ 
What place is this, whereof in dreams the dread 
Curdles my soul with spells tyrannical? 

Yea, but I dreamed : and lo ! my feet were led 
Down the slow spirals of those deadly stairs : 
And I too in my inmost spirit bred 

Desire of that fell fruit ; and through the lairs 
Of poison-fretted charnels crept, and came. 
With quivering flesh and horror-stiffened hairs, 

Beneath those dismal branches. There a flame 
Burned blue about the blossoms ; and I stood. 
And caught the falling juices ; and, though shame 

Shook in my shivering pulse, I snuffed the lewd 
Scent of those corpse-cold clusters ; and I fell 
Amid the dying, dead, delirious brood, 

Sweltering upon that altar-stone of Hell. — 
What next my dream disclosed, in faltering speech 
And feeble let my parched tongue strive to tell. 



234 ^^-^ VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 

Far as these faint and swooning eyes could reach, 
There, lying lapped in loathsomeness, I spied, 
Coming and going, men who yearned ; and each 

Knew what his fellow's thin and shuddering side 
Concealed of heart-ache, and of fear, and fire — 
Of fierce forth-stretchings after joys denied, 

And horrible, unquenchable desire. 

Each forehead throbbed with fever j and each eye, 

Gleaming neath hollow temples, seemed a pyre 

For some slow flame to feed on. Silently 
They stole adown the craggy stairs, and strained 
Lean hands towards the branches : loathingly. 

Yet with a terrible strange longing, gained 

The gangrened fruit, and ate, and, as they chewed. 

Pain that was pleasure filled them. Then they waned 

Even where they stayed ; for that fierce poison brewed 
Despair within their spirit. Yet, once more, 
Athirst they rose and ate ; till lassitude 

Of what the soul loathes and the veins abhor. 
Possessed them, and they perished, and dust grew 
Year after year upon the granite floor. 

O ye, whoe'er ye are, that never knew 
The achings of the ague fits of sin ! 
Who never from foul founts delusive drew 



THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 235 

Flesh-parching poison ; nor leaped lively in 
With open eyes, where lakes of molten brass 
Made a dehrious mirage, and the green 

Margent of crusted bronze-rust fairer was 
To your strained senses than all delicate 
Dim tresses of the swaying summer grass ! — 

How can I teach you by what fearful fate 
Foredoomed, dogged downward by what pangs, enticed 
By what pale cravings, lured alike by hate 

And love, these guilty things, of God despised. 

Of man rejected, moaning crept beneath 

The treacherous tree, and fed, and cursing Christ, 

Dragged the slow torture of plague-stricken breath 
Onward through days or weeks or months or years 
To fade at last in horror-shrouded death ? 

Yet such my dream was : and no gentle tears 
Assuaged its anguish : for the founts were quenched 
Of pity by strange loathing and wild fears. 

I saw — yea, even now my cheeks are blenched 
With thinking of the sorrow of that sight — 
A youth Phoebean, whose fair brows, entrenched 

With scars untimely, bore the branded blight 

Of shame neath withered bay-leaves : his long hair. 

Once crisped in curls that mocked the morning light 



236 THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES, 

For lustre, clung dishevelled, sere and rare, 
Around his shuddering shoulders : as he ran, 
His feet upon the grisly granite stair 

Dropped dew, wherewith the dusk obsidian 
Blushed into bloodstone ; and so pure and fine 
Was that fierce chrism that, methought, flowers wan 

Struggled to spring therefirom, but straight did pine, 
Seeing that nought with life in it might linger 
Beneath those scathing branches serpentine. 

A broken lute he held, with crazy finger 
Fumbling the voiceless chords ; and ever sighed 
His inarticulate throat, as though some singer 

Divine, Olympian, on his lips had died. — 
What woe was mine to feel that loveliness 
Stretched in the leprous desert by my side ! 

To know that tender bosoms longed to press 
Those delicate limbs, wherein the life decayed ! 
That maiden lips, mid the forsaken bliss 

Of peaceful homes, might yesternight have laid 
Pure cooling kisses on those cheeks whereon 
Now fed the poison of the fearful glade ! 

Let one tale speak for all ! — the Upas shone 
Above his ghstening eyeballs ; and its scent 
Stank in his nostrils like the carrion 



THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 237 

Mid jasmines festering by some Indian tent ; 
So that he loathed and loved it. Then he ate. 
Sleep swallowed shame. But oh ! the ravishment 

Of that next waking, ere his eyes were set 
To scan the horrors of the hopeless vale ! — 
Beneath his feet thick grass spread dewy wet 

(So fancy fooled him) in a pleasant dale ; 
And he, a boy, uprising, fain would go 
Forth to green crofts of golden gahngale. 

Day-long to muse and watch the murmuring flow 
Of alder-shaded streams — Ah God ! — Alas ! — 
Tiger-like on his soul the sudden woe 

Leapt in one moment of the awful place ; 
And rising — as Eve rose, what time she broke 
The fatal bough — upon his shrivelled face 

The fire of Never, Nevermore ! awoke 
Thenceforth to feed undying. Then he turned 
Breast-downward, smitten with sharp throes that shook 

The putrid air. Nathless keen fever burned 
Yet in his veins : then he would crawl and lean 
Weak limbs against the trunk : — at times he spurned. 

At times he clutched the mellow fruit that green 
And rank bent downward to his panting lip ; 
And ever and anon the heavens serene 



238 THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 

Disclosed above his eyes ; and stars would slip 
Through the clear azure on the edge of snow ; 
Or dawning's tremulous pure finger-tip 

Of rose would glide along the horns, or glow 
A little downward, ever out of reach, 
Delusive, taunting him midmost his woe. 

Sweet thoughts swam through him of the leafy beech 
Broad by his father's houseroof, where he played. 
Or spread at eventide with plum and peach 

The rustic board, a free child, ere sin laid 
Her loathly finger on his luminous hair. 
In dreams the angel of that old life made 

Music most eloquent, till all things fair 

Once more bloomed round him ; yet he might not seize 

The blossom of their beauty : for despair 

Shrivelled his spirit with foul phantasies : 
And this of all his torment was the worst. 
That knowing purity and joy and peace. 

He might not even yearn for them, accurst 
With the one hunger of the hideous tree. — 
Thus in my dream I watched that devilish thirst 

Consume and rot and wreck him utterly, 
Till he too perished. In what dark abyss 
Of Thy deep counsel dwells the black decree 



THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 239 

Whereby, O God, such shapes of blessedness 
Must sink beneath the scurf and barren spume 
Of lust unlovely, loathed and lustreless ? 



Even as I wailed and wrung wild hands, the gloom 
Lightened, and lo ! around me like thin flowers 
Of clouds that on the brows of sunset bloom, 

Blazed angel choirs innumerous — Thrones and Powers, 
Princes, Archangels, flame-tongued Seraphim, 
ShriUing through all their cohort : He is ours ! 

Then gazing on the ash-white corse of him 
Who erewhile sank soul-smitten by fierce pain, 
I saw a little dust, pure, white, and dim ; 

Kind earth's true substance. But amid that train 
Flamed one intense keen orb of living light. 
That throbbed and shouted ; and the purple grain 

Of heaven grew pale around it — with such white 

Wild radiance pierced its splendour through and through 

The fabric of God's infinite delight. 

Therewith the love within my spirit drew 

Me upward with those angels ; yea, I went. 

Last of their choir, through fields of trackless blue : 



240 THE VALLEY OF VAIN DESIRES. 

For faith and hope and yearning in me lent 
Wings to my weakness ; and I heard the singer, 
Divine, Olympian, in free ravishment 

Flood the waste skies with living strains, that linger 
Yet in these tingling ears and eager heart. 
No more about his lute the restless finger 

Strayed ; for he needed neither hand nor art 
Nor voice nor throat, since joy alone and life 
Made music through his lustre. Yea, the smart 

Of that vast passion and all its sinful strife 
Bloomed into bliss triumphant. Then I turned 
My gaze 'mid stars, wherewith the way was rife, 

Downward, and lo ! a little spark that burned, 

Serenely stationed amid sister spheres : 

And is that Earth ? my wistful spirit yearned ; 

Yea, Earth it is ; but here where neither years. 

Nor place, nor change, nor forms are, but all's One- 

One Hght, one joy, one life, — thy world appears 

E'en what she is, pure splendour ! There was none 
In all that luminous band, but flamed and shed 
Smiles like the arrows of the orient sun. 

While from the singer's soul the new lore sped 
Striking my dizzied senses. Then — for now 
The tents of very heaven disclosed o'erhead, 



THE VALLEY OP VAIN DESIRES. 24 1 

And scathing glory smote my aching brow — 
Sleep fell apart, and waking I was ware 
How that above me in the golden glow 

Of dawning all the Alpine summits fair, 
Unbarred of midnight blackness, row by row 
Blazed in the brilliance of the August air. 



Yea, Lord ! one thing alone of truth we know — 
That Thou art good and gracious ! Could but we 
Behold the rivers of Thy wisdom flow 

From the first fount of Thy felicity. 
Through all the ocean where those myriad streams 
Commingle, 'twere an easy task to see 
Concord above the discord of our dreams. 



NOTES. 



NOTES. 



Note i, Page 9. 

Forget me never. 

Suggested by an anonymous epigram in the Greek Anthology, 
bk. vii. 346. 

Note 2, Page 35. 

Lenke. 

I. This description of the fabled island of Leuke is from Arrian 
who tells the story of the sea-birds. 2. The dream blent Arrian's 
Leuke with a winter sunset in the high Alps, a well-known study 
by Flandrin, and a voyage in an open boat from Amalfi to Capri. 

Note 3, Page 45. 
An Improvisation. 
Suggested by the records of Beethoven's deafness. 

Note 4, Page 51. 

Hesperus and HymencBus. 

The first few lines are taken from a fragment of Bion. The Idyll 
repeats a legend told by Servius in his Virgilian Commentary. 

245 



246 NOTES. 

Note 5, Page 57. 
The Feet of the Beloved. 
Modelled upon one of Philostratus' Epistles. 

Note 6, Page 57. 
From Maximus Tyrius. 
These thoughts occur in a Dialogue by Maximus on Love. 

Note 7, Page 59. 

An Episode. 

An attempt to treat the incident of Socrates' meeting with 
Phsedo. 

Note 8, Page 60. 
To Rhodocleia. 
Suggested by several of Meleager's epigrams. 

Note 9, Page 60. 

At Diodes' Tomb. 

See the Scholia to Theocritus, Idyll XII. 

Note 10, Page 62. 

The Sacrifice. 

The tale of Cratinus and Aristodemus has been told at length by 
me in Many Moods. 



NOTES. 247 

Note ii, Page d^. 

Art is Love. 

I need hardly acknowledge the obligation of this poem to the 
myth of the Birth of Love in Plato's Symposium. 

Note 12, Page 67. 
Martyrdom, 
See Anth. Pal. xii. 132. 

Note 13, Page 69. 

Fantarkes. 

Pausanias says that one of the subordinate figures placed, as 
Victory, beneath the knees of the chryselephantine statue of Zeus, 
was the portrait of Pantarkes, a youth of Elis beloved by Pheidias. 

Note 14, Page 77. 

The Love Tale of Odatis. 

This legend, derived probably from some ancient Arabian Nights 
story-book and Hellenized, is reported from the Histories of Chares 
the Mitylenean by Athenaeus in bk. xiii. ch. 35 of his Deipno- 
sophistoe. 

Note 15, Page 148. 

The Cappuzin. 

A part of the Rosegg glacier opposite Pontresina has this name, 
because the rocks emergent from the snow form the image of 
a monk's face, gigantic and lifeless, which, once recognised, will never 
afterwards be forgotten. 



248 NOTES. 

Note 16, Page 187. 

Imelda Lambertazzi. 

This story occurs in the mediaeval annals of Bologna. Like that 
of Romeo and Juliet and others of the same date, it connects the 
political discords of the Guelfs and Ghibellines with a legend of 
unhappy love. The incident of Imelda's dying by drinking the 
poisoned blood of her lover's wound is told by the Chronicler. 



Note 17, Page 213. 
The Doom of the Slothful. 
See Dante, Inferno, canto vii. 

Note 18, Page 231. 

The Valley of Vain Desires. 

This is an attempt to describe by way of allegory the attraction 
of vice that 'fascinates and is intolerable,' with its punishment of 
spiritual extinction or madness in this life. I have often doubted 
whether the nightmare horror which I tried to adumbrate, is a fit 
subject for poetic treatment. I content myself, however, by reflecting 
that the sense or the presentiment of sin, when sternly realised, 
mvolves this horror, and that, as it is a frequent phase of spiritual 
experience, we are not bound to shrink from even its most poignant 
presentation. 



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